Strong Enough

Now I know why that arm bike is called the Krank. It makes me – wait for it – Kranky. Also cranky.

But, you know, also a little sweaty and a little calmer. So I will take it. And be grateful when I am cleared to return to my usual forms of exercise – whenever that may be – that I can do them.

I managed exactly a half hour on the Krank. It is incredibly boring, and the way it is engineered does not really allow for television-watching. Which is a funny thing for me to complain about because I never watch TV while working out. I need music. I need to zone out, not focus on following anything. (This is why I often do not like – or at least do not opt for – group exercise classes with complicated moves. Sometimes I just don't want to learn anything, if you know what I mean.)

I also saw a trainer about coming up with some arm exercises for me. I know loads of them, of course, but I am horrendously unmotivated about doing any kind of seated weights, so I'm basically paying someone to babysit me.

Of course I had to go through the typical trainer intake crap – and I say crap because I think it's outrageous when gym trainers start asking questions about diet. Find me one who is a dietitian and fine. But otherwise they are telling you the same pseudo-science you yourself could read in a magazine – and lots of times worse. (On Monday I happened to meet a very successful fitness instructor/trainer who advocated juice cleanses – don't get me started on those -- and at times in my life I personally have seen trainers who tried to convince me to do fast days and all manner of crip-crap, as my grandmother would call it.)

Anyway. I knew this sort of questioning would be coming and I had worked myself up into a tizzy about it before it even happened. I think a lot of it was in my head. Like because I am not slim these days – I'm not sure if I'm fat anywhere but in my mind and possibly New York City, both of which are equally crazy, but I definitely am not slim – I don't have a right not to discuss my diet. Or he would assume I didn't know what I was talking about.

He asked me to rate my diet on a scale of 1 to 10. I did. (I gave it an 8, partly to avoid further discussion and partly because for the past 29 days, it has been very clean.)

Then he asked me to take him through a typical day. I took a deep breath.

"I already have someone I consult about that, so I'd rather not discuss that," I said as brightly but firmly as I could manage. He started to protest, then perhaps thought the better of it. And that was it.

At the start, I had told him I was stronger than I looked – that I can do full pushups, and that often in group fitness classes instructors who don't know me eye me up then approach to tell me the weight I've chosen is going to be too heavy. I tell them (cheerfully) that if they see me doing something with poor form I will drop down immediately. Usually I don't have to.

He put me through some tests. I could tell he didn't believe me, because he started me on very low weights, and after I did a couple of reps, added a minimum of 40 pounds.

"Damn," he said at the end, shaking his head. "Most people who tell me they're stronger are really far from it. But you are very strong."

Strong enough to get through all of this? 

Day 29.