Mental note: don't wear dance leg-warmers in gym

not standard gym wear

So after an initial evaluation of my strengths (back flexibility) and my weaknesses (everything else) that left my left shoulder on fire for 2 days, the trainer (let's call him "Paul") and I met for Day One at 8:30am (decaffeinated). I of course wore my dance Melodia capri pants, a tee shirt (Bad Barbie!)... and  pink ballet leg warmers which generated some commentary.

The workout was a blur of activity to a really good music mix (Janis Joplin) punctuated with Paul's comments on my progress (or lack thereof.) He misses nothing which led to a generalized sulk in the abs and glutes who tend to slack off the second I'm not watching (leaving my poor shoulders and back to handle everything alone, who knew?)

Some activities were staggering - like, "Standing Up".

Of course, first I had to shove my butt back as far as possible while spreading my knees as wide as possible and then squat as deeply as possible while keeping my back straight, my chest lifted (theoretically, I should have had this one), and my arms over head (clearly, breathing not a requirement since my diaphragm was now paralyzed,) and then I had to squeeze my glutes really, really hard and Stand Up.

"Standing" actually happened the first eight or nine times but got progressively slower and wobblier until suddenly there was a moment when I told my glutes and quads, ok "stand up" and they sort of quivered and sat there.
For a fleeting second it occurred to me that I might not be able to get up at all and would be stuck there until I fell over (which I assume is incorrect form.) Since Paul's feet were still next to me (I was able to slide my eyes sideways) I figured he was going to wait patiently until I pushed myself up (which he did.)

There were a lot of stretches, some involving positions I suspect are still illegal in some states (at least if you aren't married) and others that simply rearranged most of my internal organs.

The good thing about all this alarming effort and the occasional flashes of nausea (mental note: don't eat bacon and eggs 10 minutes before driving to gym) was that I was partially distracted from all the fierce-looking, strong-body people working all around me.

submarines by definition are cool

The gym reminded me of when I got to ride in one of the submarines in Charleston - all these confident guys doing their work, fierce and deliberate, while I was swinging though the passage-way hatches like a monkey (my arms were on fire the next morning.)  I wanted to be just like them: resilient, alive and working cool machinery!

Anyway, the day (I mean, hour) ended with a satisfying exhaustion - I've been in PT and been guarding against pain for the last couple years so I haven't done a full-on workout that slapped my muscles up one side and down the other.

Bond, James Bond

But it's like a Sean Connery slap - you act all indignant, but secretly you enjoy it.