I hate you Trainer Paul. At least, that’s what I was thinking at the end of my session last night. I wanted to hurl the $#*&!@! heavy weight (three pounds) I’d been waving in front of me in figure eights for hours (thirty seconds).

Three pounds? What? That’s nothing.

Yep. After not working out for three months I’m basically starting over. Sure, the figure eights were at the end of the session, having done push presses and L raises and lateral lifts etc., but these were just 30 seconds of figure eights. I had to go down from an eight pound weight to a five pound weight to a three pounder.

I’ve never used a three pound weight. When he handed it to me I just laughed. And struggled to keep it up. I gritted my teeth and breathed hard. When he said “ten seconds” I tried harder.

At the end of the session I was wiped out. Sweaty. Surprised at the amount of strength I’ve lost.

But not defeated or depressed. Instead, I’m determined. I’ve had a glimpse at what I can do when I work hard and am in control. I liked what I saw. Confident. Healthy. Fit.

At the end of the session Trainer Paul put the puny weights away for me and smiled, “Welcome back.”

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