Trainer #2

Trainer-dude has to go buy equipment, and has set me up with his sister, the FB friend I contacted to set me up.

Cario with the sister.

Tuesday I arrive and she is bouncy and ready for me. She has just finished her kick boxing class and I watch the same women I saw last week, with her. Strong, Fit, Lean. The women talk and wonder out and I stare at the sister.

I am so nervous. Sister, graduated with my man, 19 years ago. We have not talked to her since. We went to high school together. I do not know her well, but we share friends.

She, too, is sensitive to my sensitivity and that comforts me.

Her brother, my trainer-dude, has a Master degree in whatever field you call training someone in. I know this because I looked him up well on the internet. His degree is from a great school that specializes in this kind of thing .. Her brother left her with instructions on what to do with me. I learn that she is finishing her training certification. I learn that she teaches exercises classes. We talk about common friends and then .... we begin ...

"Get the heart rate up as high as you can get it for as long as you can get it." that is what he tells her, when talking about me....

And did she ever. I gasped for oxygen. air, I need air.... stair steps, kick boxing, stair steps, punches, punching bag, stairs, punching, punches, punch her, run and punch her, run, kick, stairs...... I CAN NOT BREATHE!

Did I tell you that she did the whole work out with me! with me? Not in front of me, just counting me down .. She worked out right along side me. She had just finished kick boxing for an hour, and her she was working out with me.

She was great. She worked me. I felt so embarrassed. I was shame. I faced myself again. and weakness overtook me. What had I let my heart become??

One hour later. I was wet. Tired. Worn.

I go home. school. and nap. I have never been so sore and tired. NEVER.

Too sore to work out ...

There is a step outside the gym. My trainer-dude smiles as I attempt to climb it with no rail. I hobble in at 8 AM and trainer-dude is with a class of athletes. I watch while he finishes with them.

My mind beats me up. I see his class. Women. Women I know. From child-hood. Again, my mind beats me up.

I see them ...... Fit. Lean. Strong.

Those words have not described me since I was 18. Now 36.

Trainer-dude waits for them to leave. All of them. He knows my sensitivity. Hands me a kettle bell #1.

Seriously??

Trainer-dude: "You sore?"

Laurie: "Funny! You are funny. You want me to do kettle bells again today? Less than 48 hours since you tore every muscle? I am Laurie Bennett. Remember Tuesday??? Cry-baby-girl. Pass-out-girl! Throw-up-girl? Can-not-walk-today girl??"

I swing the kettle....Ouucchhhh! I swing again. Swing 10 more. Rest. Swing. Swing 10 more. Rest. Wow, I think, it does not hurt as bad. The pain is going away. This might be ok.

No black outs today. No throw up today. No tears.

One hour over, and I did it! YEAH for me!

Trainer-dude: "have a protein shake after your work out today, and I will see you next Tuesday.

I go home, teach the girls their school, and crash in a nap .... a long nap ....

I wake up ... sore again ... too sore again ... here we go again sore again ...

Then I can not move....

It was not 24 hours later and I have to use two hands to get off the toilet!!

My legs are not walking right. My arms ache. I lay in bed and ache so bad, I can not sleep or MOVE.

I lay in bed and talk to myself. 'No pain. No gain.' 'It is good to be sore.' 'Day one is over.' WHATEVER!!!

I get up. Ouch. Ouch. Ibuprofen. Where are you? There is one step at my house, I stare at it. I can not step. I can not move. Zombie-like walking.

My husband wants to help. Wants to rub me down. No, no, no! Please do not touch. Ouch. My man, muscle man, contractor, size 32, 175 pound man, smiles at me. Kisses me on the forehead, says, "have a good day. Keep going."

Trainer-dude told me to rest today...... Yeah, like I can do anything else?? I can not move!

I teach the girls. from a chair. I move as little as possible .... knowing that tomorrow at 8 AM my muscles are going to have to move again......

to sore to sleep .... what have I got myself into?? I think I need another doctor's opinion .. this is madness..

Day One: Laurie Meets a Weight.

I did not sleep at all last night. Nerves. Shame. Fear. Weakness. Facing Myself.

Tuesday 8AM : Introduction: "Let's see were you are."

I know were I am .. .a .... weak .. 208 pounds ... size 16W ... cry baby!!

"We will start with kettle bells." What in the world is a kettle bell? He hands me kettle bell # 1 and shows me how to swing it. I swing it up and down and all around. I swing it to the side, now other side, in the middle, between my legs, with knees bent, with arms bent. My heart was racing, and the room was going black. I kid you not!

I had to sit down, face gone pale, white, ..... eyes were unable to focus. I rest. and rest more. shame of what I had let myself become had over taken me. tears ... unstoppable tears ... embarrassment ..

Trainer guy is good, lets me let it out and then asks me to do push ups ... he pushes me right through myself. No stopping me. (I think for one moment -- 'trainer-dude, you are what I need -- push me through me -- and not let me excuse myself out of it')

Push Ups -- 5 - I can do 5... F-I-V-E! That is it! I face my weakness as I look to the ground. More tears ...

Trainer-Guy : "Our goal is to get you where you can do anything physically you want to do."

Laurie: "I thought our goal was 70 pounds??"

Trainer-Guy: smiles and moves me back to kettle bells.

Back to kettle bells .. and getting the heart rate up ... Not sure it had been that high. EVER. I get sick. Yep, NBC's biggest loser type of sick! The show I used to watch through dinner, was in my mind as I remembered all new contestants be sick.

Thoughts of weakness, embarrassment, frustration at self, overtook my mind, my focus ....

Thinking this was the longest hour of my life, I move to ab work. Crunches .. I can crunch.. well, not long ....

an hour is over ... I am shamed. Not by trainer dude, but by my thoughts.

As I walk out the door, I hand him a check...realizing that I am paying for my own pain .. and he says .. "start a food journal .. I want to see it next time."

Week One

The phone call ...

looking for the where to begin. I pray.

On Facebook I see a friend of a friend post about her work out. She is not a current FB friend of mine. But, I brave up post to her. "Can I bother you?," I say, "I need a trainer. You FB a lot about your workouts. Where do you go? Who do you recommend?" Then I beg her not to tell my story to anyone. I have shame. This is the most sensitive area of my life. and the doctor requires I hit it sraight on. I spill my guts to her. --- she gives me the name of a guy she knows ...

I walk into his gym. I meet her brother, my new trainer. Yep, he is big. 'trainer-looking' type of guy. 10 years younger than me. I give him all my excuses, my reasons, my justifications. I say, "My doctor says I have to train for one whole year. I am 70 pounds overweight. I am medically well enough she says."

While I am crying and spilling my stroy, I see no treadmills. No bikes. No purple and pink bouncy balls. No stair climbers. No ab machines. No scales.

I DO see lots and lots weights. dumb bells. chains hanging off of dumb bells. yep, chains. "WHAT have I got myself into?"

I leave with fear and a starting date. Here we go .... pray, Laurie, pray ..

Journey with me ...

It is said that the average American women is size 14-16. Yep. I am average. I might even be above average!

I do not want to be average. If average means dealing, handling, coping, with the following symptoms ..

• scale movements from 140...230...185...211...173...208... in 18 years ..
  
• facial fair growing faster than my man's!
• wacked-out periods
• exhaustion ... I do not mean tired, I mean falling asleep waiting for a green light ..
• fatigue ... too tired to breathe ..
• frustration with self
• crying ...sobbing ... blubbering ... over anything and everything ...

If this is average, I want no part.

Now, don't mishear me, I am not looking at the scale and for the scale's safety wanting it to be lower in number. I want to feel GOOD. I want to live the life the Bible verse John 10:11. Life. No bounds. No chains. No regrets. Real. True. Alive.

The date July 2009. I take my symptoms to my doctor. Begging for help. Direction. A Reason. Desperate .... Yes, I was desperate.

Her solution? ??? She says, "All your test results are great. I see nothing medically wrong. So, Laurie, I want you to strength train for one whole year. Then let's see were you are."

Me?? You want me to rely on me? Do you know me? I have a track record for failure in this area. Then ... I cry ... I have already tried me... I fail me ....

Give me a pill. A cure. A reason. Sympathy. Anything, But please do not make me rely on me. You want me to journey AGAIN down the road that has led to dead end for me every time?


So, when my doctor tells me to try again, I cry. For two weeks I cry. Cry. Pray. Journal. Deny. Cry. Pray again. Eat. Think. Sob.

Then, my husband says ...."Your prescription is to strength train .... put yourself in the trainer's hands and go through the process."

I cry again .... I pray for bravery ... courage ... help... I plead ...

Then I say, "OK, 'let the experiment begin.'"