Bring Back Those Bad Boys
There is something poignant, hopeful and a little cute when a beatiful 25 year-old who's a little overweight joins a gym and is put through her paces by an overzealous personal trainer. He might be her age, and may say things like, "Grapefruit! It's the key! You eat 6 of those bad boys a day and you'll be "animal" in no time
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Some day, in the not-too-distant future, you will look at the calendar & realize you are that 42-year-old woman. I was once that 25 year old woman strutting down the streets of NYC with all the confidence in the world, feigning dismay but mostly appreciating the little comments from men.
I think you thought you were disparaging the personal trainer. I think you're wrong. Try a little empathy instead of self-centered, phony concern. This 44-year-old woman goes to the gym in whatever's clean at the moment from working 60 hour weeks and doing what us 40-something single gals with a couple of extra lbs do (actually often includes sex with our man-friends, fyi). You haven't a clue what life is about cookie. The trainer's wrong, you're wrong, the woman in the big t-shirt is trying to do something positive for herself, not be looked at with pity by some twit who thinks she knows her story.
Have a lovely day.
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I think you missed the point of my story: it's 100% autobiographical from last August when I made my first trip back to the gym. (I'm actually 43 now.)
The personal trainer was a cocky kid who completely overdid the training session and was working the high-pressure personal trainer package sales pitch by implying that I may end up on oxygen one day if I didn't get my exercise act together.
I was proud of myself for going back to the gym, but HAD to note the contrast between doing it at 25 when the livin' is easy, to doing it in my 40's. The story is funny, in a wry kind of way.
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