Well, my first day as a personal trainer at the hardcore, unnamed gym was today. I didn’t train anybody, but instead got to watch lengthy videos about sexual harassment narrated by a woman with eyebrows just like this only more severe and less sexy. She seemed VERY concerned about about such harassing scenarios as calling a spreadsheet “retarded” or asking someone if all the numbers on the new finance report are “kosher.” Then we had to talk about some of the scenarios. In one, there was a man asking this wildly, offensively unattractive woman named Jane if he could take her on a date, to which she replied “no”. He then asked her again and told her she had lovely hair. Our instructor posed the question “What’s wrong here?” I showed my infinite maturity by not saying “Looks like Jane needs to get laaaaaaaid!” and trying to high-five my classmates.
After I had learned a valuable lesson from the harassment video (lesson: don’t ask Jane on a date. She’s an uptight beeatch) I got my little trainer shirt and nametag and went to an entirely different gym to do more paperwork. Fun day overall. Tomorrow I actually have to start training people, which is great in theory, except for that I don’t know how to train. I asked how it’s done and was told “just help them out and tell them your own personal tricks that have helped you become fit.” Okaaaay….it will take me 3 minutes to deliver my personal 3-step plan for weight loss ( 1. take bupropion, 2. run marathons, 3. eat shitloads of sugar-free jello). What do I do with the other 52 minutes they’re paying me for? The answer, apparently, is to find out how fat they are and then make them do pushups and walk on a treadmill. Schweeeeeet. In all seriousness, I work better under pressure, and may magically remember some of the things I learned in the full hour I spent studying before taking my exam to get certified. Plus the gym folk are lovely, and in better shape than I, and can probably help me to get in better shape, so that’ll be great.
I think the first step in my training will be the lesson “do as I say, not as I do.” This is what I had for dinner tonight: It was a hearty slab of chicken-fried steak, made from grass-fed beef I picked up at the local WhoFo that was doused in buttermilk and crumbled ciabatta crumbs. Fresh baby spinach wilted in carmelized onions, garlic, and crispy prosciutto cotto made up the vegetable portion of the event, and a thick, buttery mound of mashed potatoes rounded it out. Sure, we ate fruit salad with a multitude of rainbow colors alongside it, but I don’t think it could do much to offset the deep-fried goodness of the chicken-fried steak.
I followed up with sugar-free jello, because I am a personal trainer, and as such an expert, I dictate that sugar-free jello melts calories.