A while ago I realised I had lost whatever muscles I once had. Like most of them. (I need to mention that I was once really strong and fit! True story!) Haven’t moved much in the last year.
And with that comes losing strength, to the point when a bag of dog food or a six-pack of water is super heavy to lift from the shopping cart onto the belt at the checkout in the supermarket. I had to make a decision here. Either totally turning into “little old lady” already, or get help. To everyone’s surprise, I choose the latter. Not least my own surprise when I find myself casually dropping in at Vitor’s gym, to make an appointment. Time to recover what’s been lost before it’s too late, right?
Everyone that knows me, even if just barely, already know that my idea of a gym is that it’s a specific kind of torture chamber for rich bitches who leave their furry pooches outside during the workout and their expensive handbags within view. Or tattooed guys pumping iron. I’m not in either of those categories. And still, I went in and signed up.
Well, a few years back, Peter really needed Vitor’s help, because Vitor is not only a PT but also a very good physiotherapist for people with specific issues. So Peter went, and I joined in, mainly to be supportive. It did help Peter huge. Which means I have faith in Vitor’s skills. And as a bonus, a few months later I had better muscle tone, and – surprise! – a six-pack! Wouldn’t mind having that again. If only the work wasn’t so challenging for a lazy ass person like me…..
No sooner said than done, I signed up to get started, and I’m now in the middle of the process. And yes, I’ve been sore. To the point where I’m standing at the top of the stairs in my house wondering how I’m going to make it down. I have aches and pains in parts of my body where I wasn’t ever aware there were any muscles, to begin with. Vitor showed no mercy and challenges me on all my weakest spots. Although I told him from the start that I have no desire to look like Arnold Schwartzenegger. He simply replied that there was no risk of that happening and added “30 more repetitions”. Anything he comes up with always has 30 more repetitions. I’m no math genius but I can count to 30 with no problems these days. From 24 and up the numbers come out with a groan or grunt. Vitor smiles and I sweat.
The good thing about these sessions is that we are alone in the gym and can play really good music at top volume without bothering anyone, and the very nice feeling of accomplishment as I drive home. (Having my reward cigarette in the car. Not much hope of complete lifestyle changes here)
And since some of you won’t believe this story without any photo evidence, I’m posting just a couple. Enjoy while it lasts. There is no telling where this story will end.
Vitor told me that in one years time, I will look 10 years younger. And that I will be a better rider. I’m sure that is just good marketing. We’ll see how this goes. Meanwhile I’m feeling good about this decision. Almost compensating for the amount of ointment I need to use every second day after workout. 🙂