Well, maybe, but it’s not doing me a damn bit of good in terms of finding the flow of the school year. Just under two weeks into the semester and I’m having a hard time remembering exactly how this going to campus and teaching thing works. You know you’re in the flow when without thinking about it you find yourself in the right classroom at the right hour with the right set of materials in hand.
My trainer Derek and I have developed an understanding: We both know I’d rather not. We both know I’m liable to complain. We both know what I’m going to say. We both know it doesn’t make any difference to him; I’ll be doing it anyway. Ergo, we just skip straight to the exercise and get on with the session. This is why we hire trainers: It helps us to just get on with it.
What can I say? I was remarkably lucky in my choice of a personal trainer. Derek studied to be an engineer, specializing in biomechanics, but he’s got a real passion for kinesiology. For me that means despite having been put through a wide range of rigorous and challenging cardio, endurance and strength training routines over the last few years, I’ve had zero injuries.
About ten years ago I had a consultation with a physician who seemed rather stunned to discover that I had never suffered anything resembling a major physical trauma.
“No broken arms, fingers, lacerations, surgeries?” she asked. Seriously?”
I couldn’t think of any, and those aren’t the sorts of things one is likely to forget. Chalk that up to our sanitized lives and the fact that I have been extraordinarily lucky in so many ways. I also don’t leave the house much.
And in the week’s most important news, after a month of serious slacking and marginally abysmal nutrition, I got myself back to the gym this morning. A most neglected theme on this blog is “My Trainer Derek,” and if for no other reason than to keep myself motivated on the treadmill and disciplined in the snack aisle, I intend to pay a lot more attention to this topic in the months ahead.
It occurred to me today, many thousands of feet above the western United States, that last semester is over. We, the youngins and I, lurched into the station like some poorly designed theme park ride, so anticlimactic it was that we stared at the operators not quite believing that’s all there was to it.
One of the reasons that I skipped most of high school was that the physical education department at my alma mater (its name escapes me) received their teacher education at institutions run by the Third Reich, all of them specifically trained in the nuances of verbal abuse, stress position torture and ritual public humiliation. I believe this all to have been fully documented on a series of hour-long investigative reports on 60 Minutes, where I was filmed in shadow, naming names and describing the horror in minute detail, but that part (and that part only) of my memory may be a false one.