HUMOR: A solid try and solid fail

by Staff

You wake up in the morning and your pants barely button. You get ready to make fun of the fatty in the storefront window until you realize that’s the shirt you put on this morning. It’s the ultimate fat day. I recently had one of those days and, unfortunately, I was at the gym when it hit me.There I was, on the elliptical, working on my fitness, and I just couldn’t take it anymore. After stretching and weighing in (another blow to my ego, might I add), I walk up to the information booth and ask them about personal trainers. I hesitantly dial the number they give me. So as not to reveal his identity, I’ll call the trainer Andy. Andy and I speak briefly and when he tells me his price per session, I feel the sudden urge to hang up on him.I grin and bear it, and I tell him I’ll have to think about it. Sensing my hesitance, he offers me a free trial session. Like any red-blooded American, my ears perk up at the word free and I ask him to tell me more. Before you read the remainder of my story, let me explain my exercise habits. I consider wearing heels out on the weekends enough of a workout for me. I would rather binge and purge than flex and release. What was I thinking? Cut to Friday. I enter the ARC and he’s waiting for me.”You must be Tanya,” Andy smiles and stretches his perfectly-toned arm out to greet me.”Yeahhh,” I try to speak while still staring at the hulk-like appendage in my hand.”I’m going to show you some routine moves that can be used for strength, endurance or flexibility,” he said.He seemed unaware of the terror in my face and led me to the half-pilates balls. Perhaps you have used them before, but let me tell you that they are as foreign to me as dental hygiene is to the United Kingdom.Andy sets one on the mat for me: “Now, balance yourself on this ball and I’ll start you with the basics.”Wow, usually when a guy says something like that to me, he has the decency to buy me dinner first.I don’t need to go into detail about my performance on that piece of equipment and my complete lack of abs.On to the weight machines. Yes, some say that they look like torture devices and can be quite daunting, but I didn’t want Andy to know that I was incredibly weak – and scared too. I sat down on that squishy red seat and braced myself.Thankfully, my arms weren’t as pathetic as my abs, which gave me a false sense of security for what was yet to come. My head got bigger and bigger with each rep I did on the tricep machine … until lunges came along to ruin my day. I stepped forward and down, forward and down. Evidently, I was doing so horribly that Andy interrupts me mid-lunge to fix my technique. I took personal offense at this. Who does this guy think he is, Chuck Norris?The rest of the workout continued as follows: new exercise, try but falter, be corrected and, hence offended. As nice as Andy was, he was just cutting deeper and deeper into my self-esteem. Time to stretch it out. There Andy was, pulling my legs in various directions, putting me in a position that I imagine a piece of Ikea furniture would look like if assembled without instructions. Then came my epiphany: This guy asks for so much money because his job entails correcting disgruntled fat people who are sweating miserably and then touching their disgusting gym clothes to stretch them out. So here I am, appreciative and sore.Personal trainers of the world: If I could raise my arm, I would salute you!

-Tanya Dracolakis is a humanities sophomore.

-This column does not necessarily reflect the opinion of The Daily Aztec.