Re-Invention

Okay.  I've done it. I've gone and got myself a personal trainer. Maybe it's too many sessions of the Biggest Loser, but I like to think that by the time this is over, I will have obtained my version of that quarter of a million dollar prize - health (and a really cute little black dress).

I was hoping for a brash Bob Harper or an irreverent Jillian Michaels or even a soul-searching Dolvett, but no matter what, I was expecting a 'get-in-my-face-kick-my-ass' kind of experience.

It's my third week, and I'm asking, "where is he?" No yelling, no in-my-face conversations, no teary failings. However, I have figured out that instead of the in-the-face business, he will 'scream' elsewhere - and that will include squats.

Squats standing still, squats gliding across the floor, squats leaning against a yoga ball; with bars, with weights, without bars and weights. After my training session last Monday Monday, I was powerless on Tuesday to walk, sit or even climb into bed. Tuesday screamed bio-freeze morning, afternoon, and midnight, too. For my next circuit on Wednesday, I hoped to be ready for another round of squats. I said yes, but in moderation. After all, the getting down is possible; the pulling back up is improbable.

Finally, it's week four, and yes, he's bringing back the squats. The muscles have loosened and I think I'll make it through the week just fine. Never count a Southern woman down when there's a little black dress waiting at the finish line! This 52-year old will defeat the squats!