The One Where I Speak To The Personal Trainer. *Meep*
As I said after I spoke to the Parenting coach, when E.ON got in touch recently to see if I’d like to take part in an exciting new project they’re running, I jumped at the chance. They have teamed up with a few bloggers to try out specific coaching sessions on Energy, Lifestyle, Parenting and Nutrition/Fitness.
Focused on helping people use ‘no more than they need’, they’re looking at helping people to take a look at all aspects of life. It’s not about taking on a gruelling undertaking; it’s more about learning some clever hints and tips to help me to simply live life a little ‘better’. Less grinding drudgery, more skateboarding and loud off-key singing.
On Friday I had the one session of the four I was actually dreading.
I was, I admit it.
I mean, come on.
A Personal Trainer? ME???
Then I did the stoopid thing of looking him up on the interwebs while I waited for the phone call.
Not only is he a rather famous personal trainer to all sorts of model-type people, his website is filled with images of deliciously beautiful, fit people doing incredibly nonsensical things like doing push ups on one finger* whilst smiling beatifically.
I am NOT that person. Once, in a universe far far away, I probably was. But four children, 20 years and 6,789 doughnuts later, I really am not. Terrifying images of a conversation filled with me talking and him loudly sniggering (or, worse, listening in shocked silence) filled my brain.
And then Tim Hayes rang me. Naturally, my mouth just started gabbing cheerily away, as it is prone to do. I found myself not only answering every question – but answering them honestly. I did. I told him exactly how much I weigh. And how little exercise I do (I walk the dog. Which is sometimes a power walk, but more often a gentle, Zen-like amble through the fields #NotReallyExercise). I really did.
And do you know what?
He didn’t laugh.
Except when I was being funny (which was kind of him; people don’t usually laugh at my jokes).
He was kind. He wasn’t intimidating. Or condescending. And he made me feel normal. Plus he was scarily motivating. I actually finished up the call feeling excited about getting started on his suggestions. I really did.
Infected with a Madness, I tell you.
So – what did he come up with? It was so simple, I’d be a bit embarrassed if he hadn’t already told me not to be (see? NICE, he is. Lovely.).
I need to book myself to do two 45 minutes slots of exercise in a week. Not running mind. No that’s bad, for someone of my… um… stature.
But no need to pay for a gym or expensive equipment either. no; I get to cycle (real bike or exercise, he’s flexible), and I get to go play football with the children.
I know! Even *I* can’t wriggle out of that by saying I don’t have time.
No excuses though – I’m to do 6 sessions in the rest of this month, and if I miss one, I have to make it up. Or he’ll totally know about it. Slightly frightened of his All-Knowing Powers, to be honest.
I also need to get a heart-rate monitor. And probably use it too.
Two years, he thinks, for me to get to a decent shape – and I’m not interested in looking like one if his delicious models. No.
For me, getting fit isn’t about the aesthetics, the I-need-to-be-skinny-to-be-worthy.
Bugger that – I *am* worthy, just the Size-20 way I am.
But I desperately want to be healthy enough to be around for a long long time with my children. I want to be up for an hour’s football at the drop of a hat. And to do that best means to do that slowly.
But two sessions a week to start with – that’s really teeny tiny levels of commitment, isn’t it? Easy peasy. My first is booked in my diary for tomorrow morning (he even knew that if I didn’t book it in, I’d keep putting it off. Actually, when I think about it, he was a bit bossy. In the very nicest way.)
Tim just spoke… sense. He knew without ever meeting me that I’m inclined to get over-enthused, over-commit… then naturally under-deliver and consequently feel a failure at doing so, and quit. He got that.
He refused to let me answer his questions with vague generalities – he was quick to come back with an insistent, sharp, prodding “why’s that?” every time I fobbed him off.
And that’s what’s needed. There ARE no excuses. I’m nearly 40 years old – and I have taken no responsibility for my own health for years.
That needs to stop. And right here is a good place to start.
So – got any tips? Cheap easy tricks you use that’ll get me away from the screen and get me moving?
* this may be a slight exaggeration. They probably used a finger on each hand.
We’re working with E.ON on their ‘No More Than You Need’ campaign, focused on helping customers use no more than they need in all aspects of their life, and there’s a really handy bit of kit they have called the Saving Energy Toolkit.