So I started going to a personal trainer. Partially, because going to the Bingham Cup made me really, really miss playing rugby, and I'm bound and determined to play again. But mostly, I can't get over the thought that the only reason it didn't go very far with the last guy is that I'm the kind of guy who looks good when you're drunk, but that you regret when you're sober.
And yes, yes, I know that's a self-defeating attitude, low self-esteem, blah, blah, fucking blah. Whatever. That's how I think.
So anyway, I'm seeing a trainer now. He's in his (I'd guess) early 20s, and he's a) training to be a Navy SEAL, b) a mixed-martial artist, c) a wrestler, and d) participating in Octogon Ultimate Fighting competitions.
The dude is a maniac.
While I would no doubt argue the point while I'm actually working out with him, he is exactly what I need.
The workouts are heavy on interval cardio training, core strenghtening, and stretching. By the end of the workout, I'm so sweaty you could ring me out like the wash.
While I certainly anticipate the results, I'm a little sore right now. No, actually, I'm a lot sore right now. Like everything south of my sternum is sore. Well, most everything. You get the picture.
Point being, this is a good thing. I just have to keep saying that. This is a good thing.
Anyway, between this ridiculously intense working out and the diet I've put myself on (basically, in order to pay for my training sessions, I've started making all my meals. Saving tons of money and eating right for once), things are already feeling better.
We'll see how it goes.
Hopefully, I'll be at least moderately attractive to people by the time I hit P'town at the end of the summer.
By the way, the title of this post is the set up for the punchline of an old joke. If anyone can tell me the punchline, I'll buy you a drink the next time I see you.
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