The Personal Trainer

This is the day I am supposed to be oriented to the workout equipment by an experienced fitness professional and Personal Trainer who is going to take the time to make sure my posture is right and that I am using the equipment correctly. They say this is out of concern for my health, but it probably really to avoid a lawsuit.

Mike is the fitness professional whose job it is to orient me to the Cybex workout equipment. Mike has a better body than a Chippendale’s dancer from Australia and looks all of 23. He was up at the front desk with the other good looking hot guy employees joking around and having a super time. I can tell that I am an interruption to Mike because he is hanging out at work with his friends. I can read Mike’s mind. He’s thinking it sucks that he has to go show the old guy how the equipment works for probably the hundredth time this month. Mike, of course, also is fresh faced, bright and just out of a small private college. And he’s an EMT with the fire department.

Mike grudgingly shows me some of the equipment for about a half hour and then says that’s all. I counted 14 Cybex torture devices and he only showed me 10. I tried to joke around with Mike and be pleasant, but it was to no avail. He clearly saw me as an interruption and wanted to get back to his friends. Mike’s banking on the fact that I am too ashamed of my nerdiness and too insecure to complain. Mike underestimates the cunning of his elders.