Finally decided to stop fooling around with my health and weight and hire a personal trainer.
A few phone calls, emails, and Yahoo Messenger buzzes later, and I finally had 3 (yes, I know I tend to overdo things!) numbers for likely candidates to help me get in shape.
Door Number 1: Super fit dance instructor, favours Latin dance and leans heavily towards cardio workouts on off days. Willing to offer extra mural (what does that mean?) sessions in the convenience of my home. Lessons 3 times a week at N2,000 a class.
It all sounded too good to be true until I met him, and then it was. Sigh…
Standing at an even 5’5″, he barely came up to my chin as he excitedly waved his arms around, explaining the schedule of classes to me. And that was another thing. The man was just the most wound up person I’ve ever met, male or female. Like he had just had a Red Bull / Epinephrine / Squadrons cocktail, with a big shot of adrenaline thrown in for good measure.
Just watching him stomp around the room, speaking softly but very fast, was waaayyy too exhausting. Besides which, he was a pervert. How do I know this? He asked me to dance. No, I’m not being suspicious here, he said he wanted to see my footwork. Actually, what he said was,
Yes, all in one breath, and yes, with the exclamation point!
To which I replied,
“Isn’t my footwork or lack thereof kind of the whole reason I’m trying to hire you?” I got a sidelong glare from those intense, bulgy eyes. No points for being a smart mouth, I guess!
So we danced. Or at least, I tried to. It was not made easier by the fact that the fellow kept eyeballing my chest intensely, whilst ensuring that his hands “accidentally” strayed a bit too far south!
No, thank you! That was my last dance consultation!
Door Number 2: Black Belt holder, kung fu coach / swimming instructor / marathon trainer.
Well, as you know, my mouth gets the better of me, so I immediately led with what I thought was a witty joke…
“So I guess with all your skills, you can turn me into a real badass chick like Lara Croft?”
I chuckled at my own wit. Alone. Leaning in close, he glowered at me and barked,
“Who is Lara Croft? Movie fight is not real kung fu! I will teach you the true path! When I’m done with you, your vanities will be crushed and your true soul will be revealed!”
I kid you not. He actually said that.
He literally barked everything. Instructions, tips, advice, even his phone number when I asked for it.
OK, I know this is the point where I should have run screaming, but I was determined to stop being so picky and try something new, so I sat there. He barked questions at me, I answered, growing more frightened by the second.
“Let’s start with something easy,” he suggested. Thank God! I thought to myself.
I felt good about this guy already. Free first consultation and I was already getting a workout? Heck, yeah!
Cut to 10 minutes later, and I was not feeling so good. For what felt like the millionth time, he barked into my ear,
“AGAIN! GIVE ME 20 SQUATS NOOOWWWWWW!”
Oh, yes, he was definitely crushing my vanities!
I finally managed to escape from the demoniac kung fu instructor by claiming I had to use the bathroom. As a show of faith, I was told I had to leave my shoes behind. Nooo, I was barked at to leave my shoes behind.
You know how the story goes. I got to the bathroom, grabbed my gym bag, and ran for the door.
No, thank you!
Door Number 3: Boot camp instructor with flexible schedule, specializes in weight loss for fitness and good nutrition.
With my past experiences, I hoped that this would turn out right.
He showed up early, gave me a rundown of what he required from me as a commitment to my own goals, asked me to write down what I wanted from his program (a first!), and then had his P.A. type it out and print it. Told me as soon as I started officially, I’d sign it and keep one copy, while he would hold on to the other.
Okaaaayyyyyy, it all sounded slightly cult-like, but what the hey? No harm in trying, right?
We finished our first session without incident, though I got some very disturbing self-righteous vibes from him…I was getting ready to leave when I mentioned possibly going out with friends later that evening for drinks and suya.
Electric pause. Hostile stare from him and his bony P.A. P.A. quickly exited, slamming door in her wake.
Sighing, he asked me to sit down, and for the next quarter of an hour I had to endure a grueling lecture on the dangers of eating late in the day, calorific imbalances, and obesity risk among women over 30. By the time he waded into the dangers of social drinking and the beauty of steamed food, I’d had enough.
I calmly walked my carcass over to his desk, grabbed my commitment sheet, and ripped it into tiny shreds. Obviously this was not something that happened to him too often, as he just sat there gaping like a dead fish.
Like any good child of God, I “cleaned the dust of that place off the soles of my shoes” and high stepped it out of there!
No more foolish fitness adventures for me!
I did learn one thing from all this though, and that’s that it’s silly to want to lose weight to “fit in” or “be beautiful” (whatever that means). But losing weight to be healthy? That’s definitelybeautiful and smart!
P.S. Dear God, please bless me with new shoes!