Today I went to the gym for my first session with personal trainer, “Dirk”. Now Dirk is not a small man, in fact he is quite a large man, who lists Body Building & Wing Chun as his specialties. He is also South African. Did I mention large?
Now Dirk is a lovely bloke, very knowledgable on fitness/nutrition, and was very thorough when running through my very long list of previous injuries. So friendly that this “pre-workout” session lulled me into a very, VERY false sense of security.
You see, once he started on me, he developed a sly smile as my body slowly realised it was being run over by a tank (felt like it at any rate!). As my horror at what I had embarked on became increasingly obvious, so too did his smile and drive to break me. And break me he did, in no uncertain terms.
Needless to say I’m limping about like I’ve just spent all day riding a horse for the first time. I feel like someone has stabbed me between the shoulder blades. And my legs are virtually incapable of bearing my weight.
So thanks alot Dirk, for crippling me today! There’s really nothing wrong with staying the Fat Paddler a bit longer, is there??
(Dirk, if you’re reading this, it was meant as a joke because I would never say anything about you behind your back – please dont hurt me!)