I had a personal training session.
In my absolute naivety I thought it would be just a bit of cycling, maybe a bit on the rowing machine, I mean at least taught how to use them? How very, very wrong I was and that wouldn't be the last time I gravely miss-judged a situation today. I arrived at my gym, met by my personal trainer, let's call him Gary and was ushered into the dance room type thing. In front of my was laid out a mat, a step up thing and a large (very heavy) rubber tube.
From this session, I realised I cannot do lunges very well, which ultimately means I've been doing my pervert impressions terribly. No sex appeal lunges here. However, my star jumps I thought, were very impressive. This lead me to believe that this circuit malarky was going to be a piece of piss. Wrong again, that was just a very tame warm up.
I'll give you a run down of what the actual circuit was.
1. Lift the awful rubber pole from your knees, to your chest and then above your head. Repeat for 2 minutes. Rest for 30 seconds.
2. Lunge to the left whilst carrying awful rubber pole, twist 90 degrees and push said awful rubber pole out from your chest. Repeat for 2 minutes. Rest for 30 seconds.
3. Lay awful rubber pole on the floor, pick up from the end, flip, run to end of awful rubber pole, flip etc for 2 minutes. Rest for 30 seconds.
4. Step up onto box thing with a straight back and down again. Repeat for 2 minutes. Rest for 30 seconds.
5. Lie down on mat. HOLD ON TO TRAINERS ANKLES whilst lifting your legs to his hands for him to throw your legs to the floor. Repeat for 2 minutes. Rest for 30 seconds.
6. Same as above but instead of pushing your legs down, he pushes them to the side.
This all sucked balls. Major balls. However whilst I was doing 3, I did try and release my inner Scot for motivation by imagining I was Log flinging or whatever its called. Gary thought I was a bit weird by making sounds similar to Fat Bastard of Austin Powers fame, but at least my Grandmother would be proud.
I wont start on the fact I was hanging on for dear life to Greg's ankles for the last two, because I've only just got over it and I'm still in the process of thanking God that he wasn't wearing baggy shorts that let certain body parts 'hang loose.'
At the end I spent a good amount of time pointing pretend guns at my head and made the mistake of looking in the mirror. I immediately regretted dying my hair pink this week because my face now matched it like a well orchestrated bit of Christmas merchandising.
Hark the herald angels sing, I am never doing that again.
Celebrated my achievement of not dying with a three course meal starting with crisps and ending with chocolate. Hallelujah. Follow Me On Instagram! / Follow Me On Bloglovin! / Follow Me On Twitter!
Alexandra Loves x