Silicone valley

Yesterday was a cross-training day, which means I was at the gym with my personal trainer, JT. We always have a good time chatting during our training sessions. Instead of making me slack off, it usually means we've lost count of my reps and he throws on extras just to be on the safe side.

There's the usual suspects at my gym, same as any other. The meat heads that are grunting with every rep...or just grunting at passersby, the young skinny guys running in packs that decide to lift a couple weights while talking about how drunk they got last weekend, tiny waisted women with fake boobs whose dimensions are so skewed they look like walking Picassos, and then there's people like me. The thirty-something pudgy, post-pregnant women that have high hopes that their expensive trainer will whip them into shape and shame them from indulging in the leftover cookie dough in the fridge.

JT put me through the paces: Low Rows, Single Rows, Deadlifts. Followed by the dreaded BOSU ball: Lateral Hops, Balancing Bicep Curls, Rotating Mountain Climbers. Finally Supine Leg Raises. I admit have to copy this from my journal. I hope I can remember all this when I'm set free to do this on my own. I better start looking for a training buddy.