How much of a good idea is it really letting your girlfriend become your personal trainer?
I’ve (once again) decided I want to get fit. Not like mega skinny celebrity fit, that’s never going to happen, it’s more about me wanting to discover those elusive thing called biceps.
As it happens I am staying out in the countryside with my girlfriend and her family for a few weeks. And as it happens said family has its own gym in the garage. How lush.
Now, let’s get things straight before we take this any further. I’m nowhere near obese but I was always the one picked last at PA in school and I have probably never scored a goal in my life, ever. You could think of me as a lesbian Bridget Jones who isn’t keen on the bunny outfit (and who would never put blue string in a soup, I love my food too much for that).
My girlfriend on the other hand is of the lusciously skinny variety with a toned body and a deliciously round bottom (trying not to get distracted here) and she does not only live off spinach and daily gym sessions, she also pole dances for exercise. I don’t want to rub it in, but ladies, I am one lucky girl.
Either way, the woman I share my life with has for the past couple of weeks taken it upon herself to share my gym agony too. Is this really a good idea?
It’s one thing that she says she loves my snoring but would she really love my sweaty, feeble attempts at kettle bell squats, bench press sit ups and whatever other devilry that padded room offers? Just thinking about it was making me nervous.
Yesterday it was crunch time. A hardcore circuit training was on the agenda, Bring Me The Horizon was blazing out of the speakers and I started off laughing nervously whilst trying to keep the pace with my girlfriend’s medicine ball press-ups. It wasn’t long before the smile of pretend confidence was wiped off my face and I found myself glaring back at her telling me to bend my knees more whilst doing the squats that were already killing me. Bitch.
When it came to the box jumps and the following tyre smash I was ready to give it all up. The training, the diet, the potential to gain actual muscles, fuck it, even she could piss off! I was ready to punch whoever was causing me this much pain right in the face and the fact that that person was my girlfriend mattered not, she was putting me hell and I was not happy with it.
But whilst my body felt like it would break in two I didn’t want to show my weakness in front of her, I wasn’t going to give her a reason to feel sorry for me. So I kept going. And when it came to kneeing the sand bag I let all of my anger out on that stupid red thing hanging off the ceiling. I thought I could see spots dancing in front of my eyes when I was suddenly and brutally pushed down onto the floor. The last task on this circuit of suffering had me trying to get up from the floor whilst my girlfriend held me down. It was time for the infamous Wall Work.
I struggled and fought, my teeth took a knock and my head was spinning as I finally got up to find my girlfriend beaming at me. She was proud and I was dead. I fell into her arms and a hug had never felt so good.
As we stretched off with sweat pouring down our backs I think we both felt a new connection we hadn’t had before. If anyone should see me like this, with a hair glued to my red swollen face, it was her. Sure, she had put me through hell but she had also brought me back alive, feeling better than ever. With muscles aching already I couldn’t wait for our next session.
Categories: Bella's Blog