This morning I went to the gym for my third personal training session. Let me just tell you, I did not feel like going today. I had already been up there four times since Monday. Also? Friday is supposed to be date day with the Hubs. I really just wanted to get dolled up and be treated to a nice lunch and maybe some shopping at Northpark or a stop at JD's Chippery. Instead, I wore something really unflattering from Academy Sports & Outdoors and I went to have my tush professionally kicked. Glory.
My trainer is really into martial arts and he likes to talk about it. A lot. And about all the guys he trains and about all the injuries he has from it. Okay! Smile and nod. Concentrate on not falling out. It seems like most of the conversation has been one-way. I'm not sure he's asked about my life yet, except whether I was ever a cheerleader or a dancer (because that would mean I would be more advanced with my high kicks). No, I wasn't. But I can spike a volleyball, mister! Turns out, so can he.
So I guess today I felt a little too comfortable sharing some things about my life that were not going to interest him in any way, shape, or form. Things that might, in fact, horrify this man who was not really in a stage of life that led him to relate to a MOP. I might have lost some propriety when I was on the floor doing ab work. My legs were stretched out in front of me, hovering 3 inches off the floor. Three inches? That is not very much. I was shaking, holding my breath, contracting my abs, and just trying not to collapse or pass out while he slowly counted down, "Five, four, three, two, one." So I might have forgotten myself and yelled out, I feel like I'm in labor!
Okay, so what would that exercise remind you of? Is it not labor? Pushing, to be more exact? He was taken aback. Just a bit. I was really amused with myself, but as the hours have passed I've become a little embarrassed. I had just told him minutes before that they really should have some female personal trainers in the house. He was reluctant to agree with me, but I bet he can see the merit in it now!
(Q&A coming soon. But Michelle, a MOP is a mom of preschoolers.)