Back from South Africa and with some time on my hands, I was hell bent on keeping the promise I had made to myself to get back into shape. For most people I know, this would mean eating better and going to the gym more often. But for me, it meant eating better and going to a gym for the first time in my life.

When I did eventually join a gym, and I’m going to tell you that story in a moment, I was an adult in my 30s, and the first time I went into the men’s locker room I saw more naked men all at once than I had seen in my entire life previously. That was also the first time I smelled a real gym locker room. Talk about sensory overload.

So, I went to a gym not too far from my house, and told them I wanted to join. This led to a meeting in an office with a couple of guys: a sales rep and a trainer. I had no idea that joining a gym would involve a committee meeting, but what the heck. The two men asked me a number of questions that I did not expect. They wanted to know why I wanted to join the gym. What were my objectives. At first I didn’t really have an answer for them, so they kept talking about why one might want to join a gym, a bit about their own personal experiences, and so on. They kept mentioning Thailand. I began to think that there was a connection between the Southeast Asian Sex Industry and joining a gym. Or maybe it was just these guys. I was confused.

Now, I should mention that as a biological anthropologist I was not totally ignorant of some of the fundamentals of diet and exercise, at least at the theoretical level, and before joining this gym, in the first two days after returning from South Africa, I had purchased and devoured a couple of fitness books. (In case you are interested, the most useful book I read was the then current version of Covert Bailey’s The Ultimate Fit or Fat) The point being, I did have some idea of what I was doing there, I had just not articulated it yet. But while these guys were talking about Thailand and other stuff, I formulated the answer I should have given them when I first walked in. So I interrupted their conversation and told them.

“I know why I’m here.”

“Huh? Wha… Oh, OK, why are you here?”

“I want to be the kind of person who sits down in a public restaurant and orders three pieces of pie, and while I’m eating the pie other people in the restaurant look over and say to each other, ‘Wow. Look at that guy. How does he eat that way and stay so trim and fit?'”

They looked at each other. They laughed. They looked back at me. I was not laughing.

Then one of them said, “Let me introduce you to Lenora.”

… Continued …

By this time it had become clear that I was joining this gym with a life membership. I’d lay out a few hundred bucks and be a member for about $50 a year forever after. That may seem like a lot and these sorts of things are not always good deals. But part of my motivation for choosing the super-membership was to put the money down up front so I would be motivated to stick with the program for a long time. In the end, that worked.

As part of the deal, I got six hours of trainer time. I knew from my reading that working with a personal trainer was a good idea if you don’t know what you are doing, and I didn’t know what I was doing. A good personal trainer could save you from injuring yourself, and help you to be more effective in your training. I’ll tell you about some of the things I learned about this in a later post.

Lenora was one of the personal trainers at this gym, and it eventually became clear to me that the sales rep and head trainer with whom I’d met when I joined up figured out that I wanted to work with a serious personal trainer, and so they matched us up. And I’ll tell you this, since that time I’ve watched a lot of trainers working with various clients, and there is a great deal of variation across trainers, and across trainer-client relationships. There are people throwing away their money, and there are people who are getting a very, very valuable service.

I was determined to be in the latter group, and as a trainer, Lenora was determined to be in that group as well.

Lenora is medium to tall in height, and thin like a stick. She has soft brown eyes and a pleasant countenance, a quiet conversational voice and a very polite manner. When we first met she was very formal in her introduction, and after a few pleasantries and technicalities, she came to the key question.

“How hard do you want me to make you work.”

“Well, harder than anyone else you’ve ever worked with.”

A pause.

“Are you sure?”

“Well, I figure that if I don’t work hard enough to puke at least once every few sessions, we’re not working hard enough.”

She looked at me for a moment, trying to read how serious I was being. Then, just as she turned away to lead me to the evaluation area, she said, “Very well. We can do that.”

She may not have realized that I could see the grin appear across her face in the mirror towards which we were walking. Within three weeks I was to throw up once, and I was to collapse on the floor once. And those were the only times I was to see her grin in just that way again.

… CONTINUED……..

Back from South Africa and with some time on my hands, I was hell bent on keeping the promise I had made to myself to get back into shape. For most people I know, this would mean eating better and going to the gym more often. But for me, it meant eating better and going to a gym for the first time in my life.

I went to an elementary school with no athletic program. In Junior high, there was a minimal program but the other students I hung out with and I had figured out how to skip gym. Always. I did not attend high school. I did not attend college. I never joined a gym prior to the fateful Kalahari excursion with Lynne.

When I did eventually join a gym, and I’m going to tell you that story in a moment, I was an adult in my 30s, and the first time I went into the men’s locker room I saw more naked men all at once than I had seen in my entire life previously. That was also the first time I smelled a real gym locker room. Talk about sensory overload.

So, I went to a gym not too far from my house, and told them I wanted to join. This led to a meeting in an office with a couple of guys: a sales rep and a trainer. I had no idea that joining a gym would involve a committee meeting, but what the heck. The two men asked me a number of questions that I did not expect. They wanted to know why I wanted to join the gym. What were my objectives. At first I didn’t really have an answer for them, so they kept talking about why one might want to join a gym, a bit about their own personal experiences, and so on. They kept mentioning Thailand. I began to think that there was a connection between the Southeast Asian Sex Industry and joining a gym. Or maybe it was just these guys. I was confused.

Now, I should mention that as a biological anthropologist I was not totally ignorant of some of the fundamentals of diet and exercise, at least at the theoretical level, and before joining this gym, in the first two days after returning from South Africa, I had purchased and devoured a couple of fitness books. (In case you are interested, the most useful book I read was the then current version of Covert Bailey’s The Ultimate Fit or Fat) The point being, I did have some idea of what I was doing there, I had just not articulated it yet. But while these guys were talking about Thailand and other stuff, I formulated the answer I should have given them when I first walked in. SO I interrupted their conversation and told them.

“I know why I’m here.”

“Huh? Wha… Oh, OK, why are you here?”

“I want to be the kind of person who sits down in a public restaurant and orders three pieces of pie, and while I’m eating the pie other people in the restaurant look over and say to each other, ‘Wow. Look at that guy. How does he eat that way and stay so trim and fit?'”

They looked at each other. They laughed. They looked back at me. I was not laughing.

Then one of them said, “Let me introduce you to Lenora.”

… Continued. …