No pain no gain.

I might not be the best at running or deadlifts, but I know how to spew.

I wish I lived in a bungalow and could pee standing up.

Every inch of my body aches. I feel as though someone has rolled me around on a bed of concrete before beating me all over with a giant spade. I’m walking like John Wayne and can’t sit down, stand up, or bend over without letting out a pained groan.

And all because I had my first gym session with a personal trainer.

With the turn of the new year everyone is predictably jumping on the healthy living bandwagon, splashing out for a new gym membership and wardrobe under the illusion that they’ll actually use it this year while attempting, and failing, every detox plan and crash diet going.

It’s certainly a new year but I’m not foolish enough to believe that means a new me. I know I’m just as lazy and just as greedy as I was last year and every other year that came before. I know that no matter how fat I feel and how much weight I want to lose, I won’t do it alone. The option of spending a fair chunk of my wage to have someone stand over me as I screw my face up, grunt and sweat profusely all over the rowing machine is much more appealing than trying to do it alone.

At half past eight on Sunday morning I was at my gym ready to have my fitness assessed and tested by my PT, Steven. Half past eight on a Sunday morning – if that’s not dedication I don’t know what is.

This is what I didn’t look like.

I had my weight, height and BMI checked. Then a bunch of other things were measured with a machine that reminded me of the thing doctors use to trace your heart, as I lay on the floor with my right sock off wishing I’d painted my toenails the night before.

The results revealed what I already knew – I’m overweight. Only slightly, but overweight all the same as my BMI sits slightly above the recommended range for my age and size. It was all very well knowing this myself, but having a stranger confirm it made it real.

On the gym floor Steven talked me through the fitness test. I had to do a 1k run followed by 20 push ups (press ups?), 20 reverse crunches (I think that’s what they’re called), 20 crunches, 20 deadlifts with the kettle bell, 20 swings with the kettle bell, 20 lunges, 20 of something else that I can’t remember, and 20 tuck jumps. All without a break. And I would be timed.

Having just had all my fitness measurements shown to me in black and white, I wasn’t feeling on top of the world as I stepped onto the treadmill. It would be fine though, I told myself – I’d struggle a bit doing the test then I’d feel on top of the world with the release of all those magical endorphins.

Ahh, endorphins.

That was the plan until mid lunge I had to run to the toilet to throw up. I might not be the best at running or deadlifts, but I know how to spew.

Sheepishly returning to the gym floor, all spewed out, I grabbed a drink of water before lunging straight back into the exercises. Eight lunges, 20 jumps and 20 something else’s later as I hit the treadmill for a slow walk to cool down, I felt awful. Truly awful.

“How are you feeling?” Steven asked.

“Awful,” I replied. He wrote that down.

Even the stretching afterwards was a disaster as my legs were too shaky to hold my balance and I had to hold on to a nearby exercise bike.

I was promised the next week would be just as hard, only in a different way. I handed over my money and drove home with a red neck and red face, hands still shaking.

I’m looking forward to next week.

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I’m currently training to run a half marathon in October to raise money for the Scottish Association for Mental Health. If I manage to raise £200 by then I will also run a full marathon in April, 2014. 

Tags: fitness, gym, health, personal training, workout