About Me
- @scousebirdprobs
- Liverpool
- Scouse bird with a vodka dependency and an acute sense of social observation. Always self deprecating, always blunt. Follow me on twitter WARNING: Non-scousers may not understand language of this blog.
Friday, 5 July 2013
Personal training
Have you ever met a man you absolutely cannot lie to? I have, and it's not even me fella. Lying to me fella is easy;
"No babe, the cats haven't been licking your food."
"I've got no idea how match of the day got deleted off the Sky plus box"
"No babe, if the fella from the diet coke advert ever responded to my twitter stalking and followed me back I wouldn't be thinking of him every time we have sex."
See? Piece of piss. The fella I cannot lie to is Craig, my personal trainer.
It all started when my yoga place unexpectedly shut down. I was recommended to try Olympus Gym on Hatton Garden in town as they offered hot yoga classes. Craig popped up and tweeted that if I wanted results I should come and see him for PT sessions. I'd tweeted about a week earlier "there's 110 calories in a banana and only 55 in a vodka diet coke, make smart choices" which he'd replied to saying that alcohol reduces the body's ability to break down fat by 73%. I informed him that it also increases your ability not to give a shit by 74% though.
Naturally I was suspicious of him, I knew he was goin to try and tear me and vodka apart. And he did. Home wrecker.
Coming down the stairs into Olympus gym I'm always greeted by Craig standing at the bottom waiting, with an evil grin on his face. And it is evil. One of the pre-requisites to being a PT is being able to derive pleasure from other human beings suffering. I've never seen him eat, he just feeds off sweat, blood and tears. He calls everyone "flower" in a gentle, friendly tone, but don't be fooled. Tell me he's nice when you've experienced leg day. I never knew I could get emotional over split squats.
While I'm warming up on the rower he'll pose the dreaded question, "So what did you get up to this weekend?" And I swear, it's like he knows. Out of my mouth comes tumbling the truth bit by bit, "Well I had my cheat meal like you said."
"What did you have?"
"Burger and chips and chocolate cake"
"...."
"And I had 2 glasses of prosecco. I know you said I wasn't allowed any alcohol but I had like 2 jugs of water so that probably cancelled it out"
His eyes widened.
"And a vodka."
"What??"
"And they didn't have slimline tonic so I had to have full fat tonic"
"Are you kidding me??"
"And a steam boat"
"I'm gonna kill you. 20 burpees right now!"
"I had a quarter pounder meal at maccies in the day too. I know you said it was only one cheat meal I'm allowed not a cheat day so that was like me starter.!" (Muahaha didn't tell him I had chicken nuggets as well though)
Don't get me wrong, he's a hard task master but he gets results. Even with a weekend away in France which included a massive alcohol and carb binge I managed to drop 11.5 inches from my upper chest, waist, abdomen, bum and ham arms in just 2 weeks. I mean I had reservations on whether or not I'd be able to stick to it after the first session which largely included me rolling around on the floor like a slug screaming "No more!!! Please no more!!!" He even has what I call Fergie time and Fergie reps. You'll count 12 reps in your head and he'll insist you've only done 9 the cheeky scoundrel.
But credit where it's due, I'm closer to being sexy for mexi than I have been any other year. I reckon another dress size and ill be happy. This is now even more important as some skinny waif of a Scouse bird informed me the other day that her an her fella are stayin at my hotel in Mexico at the same time as me and as you know scousers are magnets for other scousers on holiday. Abs need to get on my belly right now.
See picture for typical conversations with Craig.
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