I’m decently in shape. Like, I honestly think I am. I bike 8 km to (& 8 km from) work every day. I go to the gym at least twice a week. I even have a green-smoothie/kale-salad combo sprouting out of my work bag [almost] every day.
I’m decently in shape.
But sometimes I have moments when I think, perhaps, I’m not.
When I realize I could be so much more in shape.
When I make sex noises at the gym.
I recently had my second training session with Al. It was an arm day – meaning a day I never, ever, ever experience. As I wrote previously, the only reason I work out is basically because I want a nice butt. I don’t care about my arm muscles. I feel like my strong mind makes up for my weak arms, and I’m cool with that approach.
There are so many reasons this thinking is flawed, but I don’t (or at least didn’t) give af. Who needs arm muscles when there’s a nice butt on the line!
As soon as we started arm day I knew it was going to be a tough one. Believe me when I say beads of sweat were forming on my face after the first 2 reps.
Believe me even harder when I say it was a lot of sweat from there on out – to the point that I literally thought I was maybe going to fall over. Not die, but fall over into a big ugly pile of shame.
We lifted. We curled. We did that thing with the giant crossfit ropes. I squeezed the muscles behind my shoulders and gripped the weights like my life depended on it. And it was fucking hard.
“I can’t do this” I said, staring at my face in the mirror with five whole bicep curls left to finish in this round.
“You can,” Al said.
So I lifted.
And I’m lifting these weights (which are a mere 8 POUNDS, by the way) and I’m sweating and my face looks weird and all the sudden these sex noises are just uncontrollably coming out of my body – and YES it’s embarrassing and YES I wish this wasn’t happening but I’M STRUGGLING SO MUCH THAT I ACTUALLY CAN’T DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT. It’s just happening to me. And I’m just there with my knees bent and my tank top soaked with sweat, dying, with my 8 pound weights in hand trying so, so hard to keep lifting and to keep my mouth shut.
It hurt to brush my teeth that night. Like, holding up the toothbrush for a full minute was hard. I brushed slowly; carefully. I spit out my toothpaste and just stared at my foamy face in the mirror, mentally preparing to pick up my heavy, heavy glass of water and take a sip.
Life was hard after arm day.
But you know what? 4 days later when I was at the gym alone early one morning, I picked up those 8 pounds, eager to try again.
Was it easier? No.
Did it hurt to brush my teeth after? Definitely not – mainly because I didn’t try nearly as hard as I did with Al. Fuck man, at the first sign of struggle I dropped those weights and skipped outta there.
And this is why I hate training with Al.
Because he pushes me to the point that I make uncontrollably horrifying sex noises at the gym.
And this is why I love training with Al.
Because I don’t know how to work that hard without him.