Being THAT girl.

Sometimes, life is hard. 

And sometimes you could just be me, which makes life harder because of a combination of awkwardness and broken logic and a pinch of just being in the wrong place at the wrong time... but it's mostly the first two things.

I now have a personal trainer. His name is not important. All that is important is that he's the shizz.

I now feel okay enough to share this story with you, but trust that anxiety about the situation surfaces at random moments throughout the day when I get flashbacks and contemplate how I'm ever going to step foot in that gym again. 

I straight up threw up during (well, closer to the end) of my first training session. [SHAME] I was working with these evil straps that were attached to a bar on the wall. Squats (which is fine, I can do those for days), lunges, calf raises (30 on each side, times three - which I think I discussed with him my desire to slim down my calves, so I'm not really sure what this was happening), then push ups (standing, which was weird and extremely difficult) - and this is the part where I vom-ed. 

I guess I shouldn't have eaten so close to the workout, but I thought that was just something people said, like "Oh, make sure you stop at that stop sign." Aka optional. Whatever. I had to be there at 9 AM on Sunday morning, so I was not about to set an alarm and get up early on the weekend. 

Sorry bout it. 

But I don't stop amazing you there - it also must be mentioned that I drank a rando's gatorade... At our first break, he points to a gatorade on the floor next to us and said, "Have some gatorade, you deserve it!" So I drank some. Because - and correct me if I'm wrong, his job is to tell me what to do and my job is to do it...

I also thought, "Oh dang, how awesome! He bought me a gatorade!" NOPE. About 10 minutes later, some girl walks into the gym and picks up her drink.

WONDERFUL.

The only mature thing to do at this point was to totally play it off to my trainer and pretend that she had totally stolen my drink. (She picked up her drink and left, so I was able to do that - quick thinking, huh?) After our workout, the trainer goes, "Oh, so was that not your drink?" And because I'm evil and coming clean to lying was clearly not going to happen, I said (with some attitude to convey how upset I am that someone stole my drink), "Uhhh... I thought it was!" I guess that doesn't really count as a lie because I really did think it was for me. 

I DON'T EVEN LIKE GATORADE.

I went home and while milling around on Netflix, found Pumping Iron, a documentary on Arnold Schwarzenegger's final go at Mr. Universe...

If Mr. Universe has thrown up at the gym a couple of times, I don't feel as bad about it. 

I mean, I suppose you could argue that he and I are on very different levels of body building/sculpting/finding if muscles exist in our body in general, but I like to think we're kind of the same person.