Oh. Dear. God.
Saved review for later
It happened, I went for my first PT session with Charlotte. I can barely breathe let alone type.
It all started so well.
We met at the beautiful Nuffield Health Gym in Wandsworth and I managed to confirm that it had a café (result – a great place to procrastinate, rather than actually go to the gym) and a quick glance at the class timetable confirmed there was plenty of Hatha Yoga classes, for me to pretend I was exercising in, when in fact I would just be catching up on some much needed sleep!
The first thing to note was that I was VERY wrong on the Octogenarian-haven- front.
I have a new pass time and that is staring at the arms of lean, mean Gillette Dads. You know the type I mean, the ones that used to feature in the Gillette adverts when we were in our late teens – Nuffield Health is rife with them. This is bad. Very bad as it means that I now care about looking bad- oh and I’m married. Bugger.
So, now clad in my most slimming of lycra outfits, I headed up to the consultation room with Charlotte, my Nuffield Personal Trainer. Charlotte was lovely and talked me through my goals and listened with a wry smile while I regaled her with tales of my amazing running feats but untimely demise due to injury (cut down in my prime!). She then put me on the scales (not pleasant) and did my measurements (even worse).
I told her that basically I wanted to lose weight and get fit and that I could commit to at 3 visits to the gym a week. I am sceptical about the gym, mainly because with running, I like the fact that my workout starts as soon as I leave the house. I close that front door on all the mess, screaming and fighting and I run and I keep running until I can face going home again, often via Starbucks! So fitting in the gym is something I worry about, as my life is pretty hectic but Charlotte said not to worry, to focus on the PT session each week with her and then work in classes, swimming, running- whatever kept me interested, around it.
This all sounded great and she was smiling so I happily, like a lamb to the slaughter, entered the gym.
All my chat about the running was a mistake, she obviously thought I was Paula Ratcliff minus the embarrassing bathroom breaks, as she increased the speed on the treadmill to 13!
There was 45 seconds of that, followed by a minute at 10 and this lasted for what seemed like decades but apparently was only about 9 minutes.
Well, that was that - I thought.
We then moved onto arm work. 12 reps at a time and as I got to rep 11, I was looking forward to the rest between each rep – oh no, Charlotte had other ideas, instead we were doing additional press ups on the seat of the machine! The reality began to dawn on me that I was obviously in the hands of a sadist. Next came the leg press, despite being a fat lass, my legs are strong so I was all ready to smash this out the park but before we started we had to do 20 leg lunges by which point my legs were jelly then we were leg pressing 45kg!
Oh Help, Oh help, Oh Help – even my go-to exercise was not easy and we were only half way through this hour of pure hell.
We then went upstairs (I had to run up them 3 times!) to start our circuit:
45 seconds of High Knees 45 seconds of Jumping jacks 45 seconds of squats 45 seconds of hill climbers Run to the door of the gym
1 minute rest and start again.
3 times in total.
I was so happy, 45 seconds sounded like a piece of cake. Watching my rolls of fat jiggling about in the mirror as my poor knees desperately tried to make it up past my hips was not pleasant at all! The jumping jacks reminded me I needed to do more work on my pelvic floor, squats proved that I can’t think of 3 things at once, hill climbers proved to me that I was in fact dying.
By that point I was also practically crying.
All the while the lovely Charlotte was telling me what a great job I was doing, she lies very well!
After the trauma of that, I think Charlotte realised I was close to breaking point so we went and did core work to finish off and also finish me off!
At the end of the hour I was a broken woman.
As I lay there on the mat with the sun streaming in the big bright windows, listening to Charlotte tell me how well I had done and how next week we would ramp it up a gear, I relaised that I had finally found something equivalent to giving birth.
The pain was on a parr but also, so was the euphoria when it was all over, followed by pride at what you had achieved.
As I hit the showers I was almost looking forward to the next session – well, almost!