I used to wake up in the dead of Kansas winter to swim at five am for off-season tennis training. I would run coliseum stairs until my shins screamed. I was a slow runner, but enjoyed watching the wheat fields pass me by as I ran in the sizzling Kansas summer. I endured extraordinary pain in the weight room. My body was often so sore the day after a tough workout, I had to slide down stairs on my rear; trying to use my legs would have resulted in a serious downward tumble. I miss feeling like that.
These days, I'm more of a couch-potato. I read blogs, sew purses, knit gloves, bake cookies, enjoy cigarettes with my coffee, etc. (all lovely things, of course. But none of them make me feel the way I did as a college athlete). The most
exercise movement I've had recently was raking leaves on a Saturday afternoon.
So I've made a step towards becoming an athlete once again. I've hired a personal trainer.
It sounds a lot more glamorous than it really is; I'm fortunate to have found a friend and co-worker that charges just enough money for his training to be considered professional experience. That works perfectly because I'm making less money than most of my high-school students with part-time jobs (how's that for depressing?).
Normally when I go through the "I'm Fat and Need More Exercise" cycle, I dread actually starting my work-outs. But I'm actually really excited to see what I can push my body to do when Trainer Man comes over on Saturday.