As I mentioned earlier, I'm giving myself a little jump start on my New Year's resolutions. I have also bought myself an early birthday present. Since I'm approaching a milestone birthday, I have taken some drastic measures to ensure that I hit the second half of my thirties in top condition: I started with boot camp, and more recently, I've kicked it into high gear at the gym since I re-joined NYSC a few weeks ago. Last week was the coup de grace -- I purchased a 20 pack of personal training sessions, two of which I completed last week.
Ali, my trainer, is huge. HUGE. I truly believe that he could eat me for a light snack and still be hungry. His manner, however, is firm but fair. He's pushy, but in a good way, and even laughs at my self-deprecating humor ("no really, there are muscles under that squishy stuff." "I know. I see them trying to come out."). Muscles that I never knew existed are sore from last weeks two workouts, and he has given me homework over the weekend. I have instructions to do cardio, but not just hopping on the elliptical trainer for a while, no sir. Ali prefers other, more torturous cardio devices, like the stair-stepper with actual stairs, and my arch-nemesis, the Versa-Climber. I really think he might be out to kill me.
Tomorrow, spin and yoga, and more of the same next week. Look out 35 -- I'm comin' to get ya.