So I took on a personal trainer today.
Judging by the exercises he had me do today (something with ropes, then something with my feet on a big ball while I kept my hips in the air and tensed by ass muscles, then something called kettle bells where I had to sort of swing the ball thingy and thrust my ass forward (gosh, I hardly KNOW you!), hanging from strappy things with stirrups and arm straps and so on) I had a very hard time not making jokes about how it all reminded me of the episode of Sex & the City when Samantha experimented with a sex swing. I kept getting mental images of everyone in that gym hanging upside down and nekkid as jaybirds. I managed not to make the joke, as, poor kid, he just met me. I've learned that the average younger Norwegian needs time to get used to me. I'm like a fine wine or scotch....it takes time to fully appreciate all my flavors and nuances.
This is obviously not conducive to a serious workout. And my trainer has NO idea what he is up against with me. He is a sweet, blonde, sculpted, eager trainer trying to build up his clientele (and his English, he wants to move to Australia, of course he does, sweet dear, they all do). I am a 43 year old, possibly *slightly* jaded, possibly slightly scary Texan gal with a wicked naughty sense of humor, a ready quip, a sardonic grin and a tendency to not take things very seriously. However, I also have an ass that I want to shrink, so if he wants me to hang upside down from those ropes, holding a ball of some sort, while singing "Alt for Norge" in my best operatic voice and flexing my abs, I will do so.
I'm certainly paying him enough for the privilege of him putting me in strange positions. But I've gotten far enough in my workout routine now that I need to shake it up a bit. I've already gotten complacent and it's time to push it farther....
Poor kid. Wish him luck.