So, there's only so long you can put on a pair of pants, realize they're a little tight and think, "Huh. Dryer must have shrunk them," even though you know they were line dried.
There's only so many times you can look at the scale go up another pound and think, "Well, I'm still two pounds lighter than my husband."
Only so many times you can look in the mirror and think, "Huh, look at that. All that sitting really does have an effect on my width."
And only so many times you can think, "Hey, I'm still a size 6. Sorta. Maybe."
After having it on my to-do list for over six months, I joined a gym yesterday. But not just any gym, oh no. Go on, ask me how I heard of this gym. Go on.
"So, how did you hear about us?"
"The back of a bathroom stall in Santa Cruz."
"Yeah, everybody says that. It's the only advertising we've ever done. Either that, or word of mouth."
I've never had a personal fitness trainer before. Not a regular one, anyway. G didn't count because he was the instructor of a class. It just so happened that only Kris and I were in the class, as all the other people (kids!) dropped out. The only ones I've had were the one or two trainers in passing ("What? Pay you $50/$75/$100 a hour? No thanks.").
However, I've since realized that I need someone to help me push myself. G was great. Lisa was awesome. Spending the money keeps me going to the workouts ("I'm not missing this, I spent $100 on this person!"), but the time with the trainer also means that, yes, I can and do push myself. Someone yelling at me to "go go go!," well, darnit, I'm "go, go, go!"ing.
So, let's see how this goes.