Thursday, March 22, 2012

Virgin Charlie Challenge Week #2 Recap- The Personal Trainer: Master of Agony


Weight: 82 kg parin!

After a week in the gym nabigyan na rin ako sa wakas ng personal trainer. I was supposed to meet him at 9 AM. As usual, I am 15 minutes late so I was given another trainer.

Tawagin na lang natin siyang Thomas.

www.gawker.com


I told him about my situation and that I need to know what workout routine suits me best. So he gave me a form and answered all the questions there.

Here are some of the questions:

Q: Why did you decide to become a member of this gym?

A: Virgin din kasi ako. Wala lang. (Would it help if I had to explain that I’m a vain psycho?)

Q: What other physical activity/exercises/trainings have you done in the past?

A: N-O-N-E.

I put check marks in every box in the form. I can’t even remember what those are for.

I gave the thing to Thomas and he led me to another room. While walking he was looking at me. Awkward. It was really annoying.

Tripster: “What? Do I have a booger?”

Thomas: “Nothing. Why?”

Tripster: “Why what?”

Thomas: “Do I intimidate you?”

Tripster: “(Murahin kaya kita? Wag na lang, takot ko lang sa laki ng katawan mo) No, just annoyed with that stupid stare of yours.”

Moving on, he told me to do stuff using certain equipment and machines. Sa isip ko, nang goo-goodtime ba tong taong ito?

After some agonizing abdominal crunches bigla bang pinulikat ang tiyan ko. OO! MAY GANON! Pinulikat ang tiyan ko. I can’t even believe it! He looked at me in disbelief. And then, he laughed. HE FREAKIN’ LAUGHED!

I thought of grabbing a dumbbell and hit his head with it.

So we went on working out chest, shoulders, arms, biceps, triceps, guts and balls… everything. All through out the routine he was trying to have a conversation with me about politics and the Philippines. I tried giving honest and concise answers between heaves and grunts. But deep inside I felt it was pure cold-blooded torture no matter what friendly conversation he tried with me.

After he massacred every part and limb of this corpulent carcass of mine, he said: “Aren’t you proud that you’ve done a hundred? So, when’s gonna be our next training?”

He smiled with satisfaction, as if he were the master of agony who is slowly forming his pupil of misery. He’s not really evil or something. He could probably be agreeable. Or maybe he’s just high with endorphins.

I looked at him with the face of treachery with a smile: “Can I have the workout plan? I will not see you tomorrow or ever again, thank you.”

Besides, a personal trainer won’t make you skinny.

I felt vindicated after saying those words. 

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