Gym Fright

Justine has a t-square on her moon. Huh? That’s what she learned when, after an “interesting” week, she called Coast astrologer and metaphysical teacher Jean Angle. According to Jean, Justine is currently operating from a place of fear.

I like to think it isn’t fear of her boss (me!), and I’m sure it’s not fear of her husband, who, if you haven’t met him, is about as loveable as they come. Which means there’s one option left. Mike Brandmeier, our trainer at The Sports Club/LA-Orange County, clearly has Justine running for her life. Literally.

We’ve written a lot about Mike already, but since we’re seeing him on an almost daily basis, he’s become quite a presence in our lives. We’ve both come to realize that Mike looks at the world differently. Every object he sees is an opportunity to work out some part of our bodies, usually a part that has never been worked out.

And, generally, a part that I’d prefer is not worked out. In our last session, Mike paraded us through the gym only to open up the back door to the very unglamorous emergency exit staircase. Have I mentioned that The Sports Club/LA is a beautiful place? It’s really a country club for the gym set. But apparently Mike has decided that we’re distracted by the inside of the club.

Was it something we said? Perhaps our last post where I talked about all the TV watching I’m accomplishing at the gym and Justine reviewed for you the eye candy she’s checking out?

When I see an emergency exit, I envision fire and flames. In Mike’s own devilish way, he sees flames, too: my flaming thighs. After handing us weights, Mike had us climbing that staircase. Up and down. Up and down. More lifting. More climbing. When it was over and I was completely out of breath and out of water, he lead us to the mat.

That’s where my fear kicked in. You see, the mat is where we do most of our ab exercises… usually some variation of a crunch. That’s the part of my body that needs the most work, but the part I’d prefer we ignore, because I know even if I get through it without feeling nauseous (which is rare), I’m going to feel the effect for days. I suppose, in a way, my abs are the dark side of my moon. Of course, I can’t see my moon, so you may tell me that both sides of my moon are dark. I wonder what Jean would say?

She would say this to Erin: You may have a t-square on your moon, too. But she’d have to know where Erin’s moon is, which involves knowing her astrological chart, which I’m guessing Erin doesn’t, because she is a doer, not a seeker. That’s what makes us a great team.

Erin: Doer. Justine: Dreamer. Erin-Justine: Woman who follows a very strict diet but hates working out. Together, we would win the gym's "Biggest Loser"-type contest by a landslide. We would be Jennifer Aniston, showing our legs all over the office and at events all over Orange County. We would be that woman I saw Mike training the other day: the one with the huge breasts wearing a sports bra and teeny tiny gym shorts, all ripped and doing ab work with weights. I was watching Mike train her; he clearly likes her better than me because he sees instant results.

I’ve decided I like training myself better than training with Mike, because if the weights are too heavy, I use lighter ones. If I only want to do one set, I don’t sneer at myself and say, “If you don’t do 15, I’m going to give you 20.” I don’t test my own body fat. I don’t send myself annoying texts that sound something like this: “What are you doing today? Where, when, how, why? What are you eating? Are you still fat?” And just the other day, someone told me I was looking trimmer, and I credit myself and my new workout routine, inspired by Mike, perhaps, but not led by him.

I’ll tell you one thing: It does not involve running up and down the emergency exit stairs in the bowels of this fancy club. No, the view is way, way better from the elliptical…