St. Paul and the Wicked Dragon

I feel so sorry for my gym instructor, P. He's an excellent trainor, unfortunately, I fell into his hands.

Yes, you can think St. George and the Dragon.

A few minutes past the alloted time, I come rushing through the stiles breathless. And when we finally do start the lesson, I'm a 'weakling' as he calls me, from lack of sleep or lack of sustenance.

I smile brilliantly at him the first few minutes but my good cheer deteriorates into bratty petulance when the frustration and fatigue sets in. Damn treadmill. Darn machines. Darn stretches. I'm panting worse than the fatties and oldies he trains. Sometimes, I cry from the unfairness of it all. Unfortunately, I have the sinking suspicion he enjoys my watery exhibitions. I am a mountain of stone at work. Even with the NBI harassing me, I am cool. But 30 minutes into the Master of Pain's workout, I am blubbering like a six-year old.

Sometimes, I think it's the other way around.

When I have to wait for hours for him. Now where did Lolo get to? Very embarassing to admit to the other Trainors that you've misplaced your personal instructor.

When he acts like I'm invisible. Hello! I'm right here. I'm too cute to miss. haha. Wait, here's a bucket for those spasms.

When he harangues me about my PATA. They're not THAT planetoidal. Or are they? *scratches head*

When he accuses me of not trying that hard. Wait a minute, he's right!

Sometimes, when I walk past the other trainors, I can feel their judgemental eyes following me. Brat, they must label me. Shouldn't be a wonder. P has threatened, cajoled, persuaded, teased, and raised his voice at me to get me to follow my program. I try MY BEST but I can't help being myself...

Sometimes deaf because I'm walking in Lost. It takes me a full five minutes to remember I'm in the gym...

Sometimes my blood just gets lost in Circulation and I'm dazed, dizzy, and a step from dropping like a stone at his feet...

Sometimes, my body just can't plain respond to the instructions from my brain. I've been a klutz for years. Can't change that in a twinkling...

So in the meantime, P and I end up fighting like the proverbial cats and dogs in the midst of hardworking trainors and clients (who get along in peace and harmony)

I have honestly thought hard and long about changing trainors. I am too fond enough of him that I want to spare him all the agony of training me. I also don't like the thought of him looking at the clock with dread thinking, Egadz, it's time for that crazy woman again.

But today was a good day. Even if I muffed my program more than usual.

This day's training was more intense than usual. I don't know what that goddamn machine was but I had to climb up these steps and reach for the handlebars and hoist myself up and down several times. Egadz! How do I carry myself with just my arms? My brains sends a message to my body.

I can't! I can't! I tell P.

You CAN do it, he argues. And he gets this steely look that brooks no argument. I think of him getting tumbled out of the Top Ten Trainors (oh woe, is it because of me) and decide to try. I tell him so. I wrestle with the damn thing trying to get into proper position. I'm supposed to raise myself with my arms and cross my feet. Cross my feet?! Why? Whatever for? I find out later when he grabs my feet and raises me. After a few minutes, I work out how I can do the raises with his support. I can't raise myself with just my hands but I CAN do it by pushing down somewhat from my feet which he is holding in place. We do this several times until I get slightly better at it. After holding for 6 counts, I fall heavily to the ground as he lets go. He brushes himself off and I am stricken. Eep, dirt from my rubber shoes. And the ground was wet out from the drizzle. I brush his front down with my hands. We go through this ritual several times till I notice a guy seated against the wall who seemed to be enjoying the spectacle. I don't know if he was enjoying but he surely found something funny.

P makes jokes about my butt and my planetoid thighs in his face. He tells me that all the while I was straining, he was praying I wouldn't f***. Eeek! I can be totally green-minded but NOT gross. Ewwwww.... We are laughing all the way to CineFit. I am just too embarassed for words.

Later I have to lie down on one of the seats to avoid fainting. As I down the nasty orange soda he brings me, I take the opportunity to encourage him to drop me from his roster of clients if he wanted. His answer. Di ko iniisip un. Iniisip mo kasi baliw ka. Surprising answer. I thought he would've been Google-ing like hell by this time. Something along the lines of...

How to drop your client while making her think it's her own brilliant idea...

But like I said, the answer surprised. Hmp. Twould take a 10-wheeler truck to get me to admit that I was very touched.

Later, he introduces higher levels of pain to the Stretching exercises. Egadz, I never thought they could get any more painful. I had never actively shouted in pain before today and I must've given the poor Maintenance guy cleaning the mirrors a bad turn.

Looking back, I realize it's a bitter pill to swallow but I can't do it all by myself. I AM lucky that there are people willing to hold me up by my feet while I struggle to raise myself to heights.

P is a hard taskmaster but I think he can slay the Wicked Dragon.