Dismayed with selfies taken in Hawaii this summer and with a significant birthday just around the bend, I decided to remake my body.
But, with meh motivation and many time-draining responsibilities, I made up my mind that a personal trainer was the most efficient way to minimize the muffin top.
A little advice: find someone who is sensitive, but who has appropriate boundaries. She should encourage you to push harder than you'd like, but with praise not penalty. Your body muse should hold you accountable to your goals, and firmly set you back upright when you stumble.
Personal body guru Emily is the embodiment of all that. A former child actress, she is pretty without that intimidation factor. She gives great diet advice. And she is mobile. If you are blessed and live where Beautiful People do --Brentwood, Beverly Hills, or West Los Angeles like I, she brings her hand weights, exercise mat and stability ball to the intimacy of your home. And so affordable. Her Getting to Know You rate is $99, for three sessions.
While price was a consideration, I chose her because of her avocation--Emily is a writer, like me. Emily has a thirty-something-angst blog on HuffPo. (Writing a HuffPo blog is so LA.) You know, she pens that generation's take on evergreen Cosmopolitan topics like "Is He the Right Mate for You? Judge Him By His Friends," and "Proper Yoga Etiquette, Keep Your Stinky Toes Off My Mat!" I devoured all of Emily's posts, tweets and videos. I discovered, like me, she considers Stonehenge to be the most mystical place she has visited, she is very knowledgeable about women's nutrition, and she recently revisited her passion, acting. I ached over her admission that she fell flat on her face at an audition and learned that she appeared on TV teaching an exercise class in an obscure reality show. I was elated that my personal trainer was on her way to being the heir to Tracy Anderson's throne.
Since I telecommute on Fridays and she had an opening, we designated Friday noon as our time. My sister-in-law agreed to whisk away Jack for the four-hours surrounding my hour session. Not about to let my body goddess into the hovel, I texted Emily to meet me in the backyard, the nicest space we have in every season. Emily assured me that she loves dogs, and working out outside. We were set.
Emily placed her mat on the ground--gingerly. She immediately spied a couple of glass shards buried in the lawn. Earlier in the summer my husband accidently broke my patio table into a million pieces. We'd spent three hours picking up each glass diamond--and obviously missed a few.
All of those lunges and squats caused us to move around the yard. Problem was it was ninety degrees out. The other thing I'd failed to consider was Juno, my dog's reaction to all this heart-healthy activity.
Once I began the jumping jacks, Juno raced over in a panic, jumping on me to get me to stop. So, I tied her up to a patio chair, but that meant every time she became alarmed, which was every time Emily squealed her approval at my progress, she ran over protectively dragging the chair behind. Emily suggested that we move the mat to a cooler, and shadier spot behind the magnolia tree. Emily yelped and held up her darling little sneaker--dog poo! She covered her eyes with one arm and extended the shoe with the other. Juno meanwhile barked and lunged at all the commotion.
I ran inside, and grabbed the best towels we had and spent the next ten minutes of my session prying the dog mess from the rivulets on the bottom of her shoe. When it was time to leave, she assured me that it was okay, she had sanitizer in her car. She started to roll up her mat, but suddenly had a change of heart. "That's okay, we'll keep this mat here."
That night I sent Emily a humble email, apologizing and offering hope that we might laugh about the dog poo some day. But, Emily is a true professional and told me not too worry. To demonstrate my commitment back to her, I immediately purchased the NutriBullet, and the raw vegan vitamins she'd suggested would be life altering, and religiously logged all food consumed. In my mind's eye, I could see us chatting about my interesting food choices. "Really? I love hummus and red wine too!"
The next Friday, husband got up early and removed every piece of poo from the yard. I put out a new mat under the shady tree and tied Juno securely. Jack, without my asking wheeled out the back gate at a few minutes before noon. This session was almost perfect, only slightly marred by the incessant chattering of my mother-in-law's gardening lady as she puttered around deadheading the flowers in my workout area. But by session three, things were golden. I was proud of my biceps and Emily was opening up to me a little about herself and her plans for the upcoming three day weekend. It wasn't until she was gone, off to tone her next exquisite client that I realized that the one of the ancient sneakers I'd been wearing had lost its bottom rubber layer during the lunges. The next day I replaced them with a pair that looked exactly like Emily's.
On Monday morning, I received her daily email in which she normally sent encouraging words, food advice and detailed my workout goals for the week.
"Hi, How was your weekend? How are you feeling?
I have some news...I was unexpectedly hired on
a huge freelance writing project which will last about
a year (I didn't even apply for it!) I am thrilled about
it; however it is going to take up most of my time. So,
unfortunately, I am not going to be able to continue with
our training."
For only $99 I gained a lot from Emily. I saw that I'd lost the ability to see this place for what it is. Even the backyard, our home's best feature is decrepit. The lawn is scraggly, and has hidden glass shards, the awning is bent and missing several dozen teeth, the wheelchair ramp leading to the back door is lined with a moldy carpet, the back porch is strewn with rotted dressers and other discarded furniture. If I'd been Emily who was arriving at this house from a mansion in Brentwood, I would have given pause too.
I wanted to email her back and offer to show her photos of my lovely home up north. To invite her to watch me in trial, to ask her to read this blog, and understand why God placed me here in this space at this time. I wish her well and much happiness. I am just glad I wrote about it before she did.
http://www.merriam-webster.com/top-ten-lists/top-10-funny-sounding-and-interesting-words/bumfuzzle.html
