Awkward. Sweaty. Uncomfortable. And it hurt a little bit when we were done.
I just signed up for a gym membership, and my first time with a personal trainer was not the experience I was expecting.
Her name was Becky, and she was 10 minutes late for our session. I didn’t know what to do until she showed, so I checked with the desk attendant who suggested I warm up with some cardio.
When the trainer arrived, she was apologetic. She was stuck in traffic. Traffic really does suck in the D.C. area, so I tried to be sympathetic.
She then asked me to fill out a waiver and complete a short goals assessment. It was lame. “Would you like to gain muscle mass? 0 not important, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 very important.” We didn’t really go over the assessment, though the trainer did want to know about my workout habits. I sheepishly admitted to not working out since I graduated college.
I thought I’d have a test of my percent body fat, and I definitely expected to be weighed on a scale, but nope! (This was probably good for my short-term self esteem, but I felt let down that this means no ‘Body fat percentage vs. Time’ spreadsheets on my laptop.)
Becky quickly introduced me to a clipboard with my name and lines for weight, sets, and reps, but then we were off for the weight machines. No free weights at first, she said, though I’m not sure why.
Over the next hour, I worked on my chest, back, legs, and abs. I had used all of the machines before, but the trainer was able to improve my posture and form. She was conservative with the weights since it was my first session. Mostly I was just embarrassed at how weak I was compared to the muscle gods in the free weights section.
In fact, I thought the workout was way too easy until the last exercise: hanging leg raises in the captain’s chair. During my second set, my ab muscles gave out. I had to stop. Immediately. Then for the next 10 minutes I felt like I might throw up. Luckily I didn’t.
Overall, I liked having a trainer. She taught me a few things, even though she didn’t fit my preconceived notion of a trainer. No saccharine words of encouragement or praise. No talk of goal setting.
She was a no-nonsense, matter-of-fact gal. For instance, I asked how I should schedule my workouts (because I loves me a plan), and she said, “Basically you’ll see results faster the more you work out.” Gee, thanks. Really?
But when pressed, she told me to aim for two weight sessions per week.
For now, I think I’m going to play the field and try to find a trainer that clicks. But I might go back to Becky.
After all, you can never forget your first.
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