Lemondrop

Okay, so when we left off, I was miffed at Jillian for what she had done to my knees. Believe it or not, one of them rapidly got even worse, necessitating a brace and three days of Vicodin. As you can imagine, I was annoyed (though considerably less so once the Vicodin kicked in).

Once my knee was better, I decided to quit screwing around and call in the professionals. That's right, friends: I am now seeing a personal trainer.

Click here to read about Alexa's new trainer and the Calipers of Reckoning.


My brother's roommate sees a personal trainer and likes it. We had discussed the matter several times before, but I hadn't seriously considered it as an option for myself.

My first reason for rejection: Said training would take place in a gym ... and I am sure I don't have to tell you how I feel about gyms.

Second reason: the Calipers of Reckoning. At the start of my brother's roommate's personal training program, they assessed her in a variety of ways, including PINCHING HER FAT WITH A CLAW-LIKE MEASURING DEVICE. Here, let me show you:



I know. Hold me.

And third, trainers aren't free. But Vicodin or not, I couldn't stand another week in a knee brace, so I manned up and made a personal training appointment at my local YWCA.

The assessment
My personal trainer was a small, sinewy young woman in a tracksuit. Sure enough, she informed me that the first session would be spent in "assessments," which is just a euphemism for "tests."

First up was the Walk Across the Room "assessment," which was familiar to me from my trip to buy running shoes. Honestly, I don't know why fitness people are so concerned with my gait.

Next up were the dreaded push-ups. I managed to do about three sad, trembly ones before the trainer took mercy on me and moved on to crunches. I had a brief moment of triumph during that portion of the assessments, because I can do crunches without tiring more or less forever.

You would never think it from looking at me, but my abdominal muscles are quite powerful, due entirely to the fact that I signed up for weightlifting as my high school gym elective in order to avoid team sports. I spent every class period doing crunches because there was nothing else I could do: I was too weak at age 14 to bench press even the bar.

It was just me and the wrestling team in that class, by the way. Another story for another time ...

The calipers
After the crunching assessment came Balancing on One Leg (pass!), Toe Touching (fail!) and several other things I can't remember, because I spent the whole time waiting nervously for her to break out the Calipers of Reckoning.

It was somewhat anticlimactic, after all that, to find that this particular trainer does not use said calipers. Her method of calculating body fat percentage involved me holding a device that sent an ELECTRICAL CURRENT through my body to measure the resistance. (Fat does not conduct electricity as readily as muscle.) Much less humiliating than calipers, if a little creepy.

The talk
We then sat down for a little heart-to-heart, just us two, to talk about my fitness goals ("Uh ... to be fit?") and work out a plan. I will see her about once a week, and she will devise a (knee-friendly!) workout I can do at home on off days. I will also try to get to the gym once in a while, which I am sure will warrant a whole post of its own.

I go back for my first real training session today, so check back in two weeks to hear how I have transformed myself into a lithe gym-goer with muscles that have the raw, animal power of a jungle cat. Hey, it's possible!

When I told my trainer I was a freelance writer, she broke into an excited smile and informed me that she, in fact, is a poet. We're not as unalike as you might think.

Alexa Stevenson tries out various exercise techniques and documents them every other week on Lemondrop.