What a day yesterday was. Ray had reservations for dinner, the mail included birthday cards and family members called. The highlight of the day was Homer mentioning the occasion on his blog. I’ve been getting happy birthday’d left and right. (Thanks for the suggestion on the new comment filter Brian and thanks to you too Homer! You are a great friend.)
The big surprise is what I ultimately got for my birthday. It was something I didn’t expect. Something I didn’t have either.
I got sick!
Yes, I’m sick. It’s official. I fear that I’m going to be under the weather for a few more days. Got some sort of crud in the back of my throat accompanied with mild aches, chills and over all malaise. Feels like there’s a conference going on down there to determine if I should have the flu or a really bad cold. I’m voting for the latter. After all, I did have a flu shot this year. This time around, I’m popping echinacea like crazy and drinking tea. Where did I put that vitamin C?
We canceled the dinner reservations last night. There was going to be this whole lunch with co-workers thing today. Ray works with a woman named Linda who’s birthday is the day before mine. It’s kind of become the standard to have a dual lunch birthday celebration. Oh well. Hey, happy birthday Linda!!
Yesterday morning I made a decision. It was right when I saw myself in the mirror after getting out of the shower. I want to find a personal trainer. I need help.
Let’s face it, I’m 42–I mean 40.2. If I don’t start doing something now–right now–I’m going to have a really hard time trying to do it later if at all. The only trouble is, I live in a rural area. It’s not like there’s this vast selection of personal trainers.
Most people just find a trainer and go with them without any thought. They just want someone to help them along, spot them during workouts and give encouragement when needed. I want all that, but I have two other prerequisites of a trainer. A) My trainer must be male, and B) He has to be totally fucking hot.
I’m a visual (and/or really shallow) person. I need the eye candy. I’m the ass who only gets motivated by a carrot on a stick. It’s just that simple. I hired a trianer in Chicago for a brief period and he was OK, but more on the lean side. He’s standing there all tall and trim telling me to push harder and I’m feeling like, “Bite me! You get down here and do this!”
It’s kind of like the time (or times) when I was having a tad bit of personal difficulty in my life. At the suggestion of a friend, I went to see this therapist. Upon walking into his office the first thing that stood out was how dark it was. All the blinds were drawn and the shelf lined walls were brimming with books, paper and other assorted crap. In the center of the room was a desk piled high with files, a half eaten egg mcmuffin and whatever else couldn’t fit on the shelves. Behind it sat the corpulent therapist. He was a classic specimen with ill fitting clothes and greasy hair and my first thought was, “How is this fat fuck supposed to help me get my life in order?” His answer was medication. I found someone else.
When offering professional help, it’s best to exemplify your services. If you’re in the market to be a personal trainer, you should be an inspiration to your clients. This rule also applies to dating. You’re kinda gonna to get what you attract. I was chatting with a gentleman in a fast food restaurant several years ago. He was rather heavy set, balding with a big beard and long hair. In between bites of his taco he lamented how he, “…just couldn’t find a girl”. At that moment a big glob of taco sauce slopped on his belly blending in with the tear and all the other stains.
So here I am in rural Arizona hoping to find my fitness muse (God I am shallow). Oh, and before you ask, Ray does not work out with weights. He’s a totally different body type. It would be great to work out together but we have different fitness goals. He just needs to maintain. I need a complete overhaul.