Paging the Trainer

Another deviation from the prompt…  That just means another day wherein I write the post I want to write and then sometime before midnight I scramble to write the post they want me to write so I can get some numbers up.

This morning at work was interesting.  I had been waiting for a few days for a delivery.  It was a shirt.  Not just any shirt; this was a “superfan” shirt.  Not familiar?  The sports teams at my school sell (as a fundraiser) shirts from time to time with the names of the buyer’s favorite team member on the back.  On Friday’s one may wear the shirt to show their support not only for the team but also for a particular student-athlete.

We’ve detailed my struggles with fitness on these pages.  We’ve also mentioned my experience with an unpaid, part-time trainer.  We’ve further detailed my obsession with the “royal we” and how we must stop using it.

Trainer is an awesome guy.  In fact he’s not just a trainer, he’s a follower (as in, of this blog) so I know I can reach out to him on these pages.  Now I’ve never bought a superfan shirt before but for this one student I had to.  He is the reason I still have faith in the nobility of teaching as a vocation.  Imagine my surprise, then, when I came into my classroom to find Trainer standing there talking to some students.  His dress shirt was untucked, unbuttoned, and his tie was off.  I’ve seen stranger things so I scurried past him to my desk to take attendance.  While he continued to talk he completely removed his dress shirt.  In an instant I noticed his undershirt was a white superfan shirt.  In fact, it was my superfan shirt.  No, it didn’t have my name on it.  That would have been nice, knowing that a fellow teacher thought highly of my teaching skills.  Who am I kidding?  It was the one I had purchased but not yet received.  The student who delivered it asked Trainer to play a joke on me.

Once the jig was completely “up” he began to strip out of the white shirt.  Momentarily I thought he was about to go full frontal shirtless, which would have been completely bizarre, until I realized he had an actual undershirt on.

I was fuming.

The joke was funny.  That wasn’t it.  No, in that instant I realized that the shirt of which I was so proud and so excited to wear tomorrow looked way better on him than it ever would on me.  Damn.  Talk about a balloon being popped.  Plus, it’s going to be all stretched when I go to wear it tomorrow.

And that got me to thinking.  I’ve been trying for the past week to sit down with Trainer and work out a newly energized, newly revamped fitness plan.  New goal, it’s realistic this time (I think).  Last year I got started.  He had told me in all seriousness that getting in his kind of shape would take me two year at least.  Again, damn.  Took the Christmas break, as did he apparently.  I don’t buy it.  In fact, I think he’s ramped up his fitness plan.  I saw through a fitness app we both use that the other night he ran 37 miles, stopping only to do sets of 200 pull ups off a tree branch.  The branch, it turns out, was weak; but he made it strong by his association with it and the branch was thankful for the shame which brought it glory.  My goal this year?  I’m thinking I could get to 10% body fat by June.  That’s going to be tricky because I don’t own calipers and I can only surmise that I’m currently at 53%.  That might be an exaggeration but not by much.

I’ve been trying for the past week to sit down with Trainer at work — meeting outside of work is problematic since the bastard is also hyper fertile and keeps churning out kids, another fact he delights in holding over my head.  We almost seemed to connect a few times.  For instance when I stepped out of my classroom at the change of class and waved down the hall at him he ran in the opposite direction.  See, even at work he’s showing me how it’s done, running far and fast.  I love this guy.  So zany.  Crazy!  Then when I walked into his classroom to strike up the old “make me awesome” conversation he jumped headlong through the window.  See?  Agility, just one of the many benefits of being a fit man.

My ultimate hope, though I truly don’t see it happening for a plethora of reasons, would be the kind of one on one training that Hollywood actors get when they switch between roles.  There was that actor who played Jared Fogle in The Jared Fogle Story on Lifetime and then went on to portray Brad Pitt.  It’s the kind of training that would require a lot more out of my uncompensated trainer friend.  But it could work…

I could foresee him coming over three times an hour, yelling in my face, and stepping on the small of my back as I do weighted push ups.  It could happen.  It needs to happen.  I don’t think he could hook me up with the kind of magical potions and elixers these Hollywood trainers give their clients.  Don’t tell me they make those transformations the old fashioned way when everyone knows it takes two years at least.  Liars!


Step it up, Trainerman, or it could get ugly.

So perhaps we’ll get to see some improvements.  I think I’ll start by ordering a set of calipers from Amazon (once I run it past my financial advisor, that would be my wife).  I would ask if he could just lend me his but I think anything that’s had contact with skin shouldn’t be shared probably.  Then I’ll probably try to find a time to run a bit.  Then I’ll pick up my kettlebell and swing it above my head a few times, hoping I don’t release it and it slams the dog in the head.  Or he could customize a new plan for me and just commit to seeing it through already.  God, this guy is getting complacent consider all that I’ve invested in him.


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