Saturday, July 30, 2005

bla bla, disjointed entry, bla bla

The better part of last week was spent in Speedos and in a pool, and if anyone ever tells you that aqua aerobics is for pussies, kick 'em in the nuts for me, would you? Thankyou.

While it's exercise in water, it's not swimming. Aqua aerobics uses the water for multidirectional resistance. It's bloody exhausting - and really, really effective training. You nnow what was really trippy? Each time I got out of the water, my stomach was flatter for some time afterwards, I shit you not, so for anyone who's worrying about belly flab, get into a damn pool and walk a few laps. That'll be enough to get your deep abdominals doing some heavy duty work, and you won't even now they're doing it!

On land, I've not been able to get my heart rate above 140 beats per minute, and I work pretty hard and at high intensities. In water, and in just one thirty second sprint, my heart rate shot up to 160. I can't wait to do more of this and I can't wait to begin teaching.

I've still got to participate in several classes and teach several more before I'm assessed and qualified, and I plan on doing that as soon as practical and possible. I mean, really, apart from everything else, aqua instruction is simply a much better look for someone in my condition. Currently I'm this soon-to-be land whale, jumping up and down in class and on steps yelling 'C'mon! Let's go! Wooo!'. It strikes me as a little incongruous, is all, and anyway, I LOVE how hard we got to work in water this week, and I LOVE how thrashed I felt at the end of each day.

Why yes, I am a glutton for punishment. Why do you ask?

Enough of the boring educational, let's talk about the gorgeous young man who woke me up yesterday morning. Unfortunately, it wasn't with anything more exciting than a knock at the front door and an announcment of 'Plumber!', but one can dream. Speaking of trippy though, and of ridiculously small cities, when I opened the door (looking like shit, I might add) the gorgeous young man is someone I've trained and treated with Bowen. How about them apples? He stayed for ages, chit chatting about stuff, and it looks like I may have another new client, once I get my PT qualification in order (if anyone asks me why I haven't yet handed in my final assignment, the one I finished ooh, almost ten months ago? I shall cry, so back off) (Addtionally, if anyone wants to know why haven't handed it in, I blame bad potty training. And my eating disorder.... *whistles innocently*) as his fiance (who, for the purpose of my erotic fantasies, doesn't actually exist) would only go to my classes and so, would probably go to me. He also thanked me as, while he now works out with Aria (small world much?) and receives regular Bowen with him, he said it was working with me that eliminated the chronic pain in his left shoulder. Shucks, eh?

Once I get my PT qualification in order, I can get insurance to work my own business, the future of which, while I've barely mentioned it lately, is looking pretty good.

in brief: Aria is moving his business down south and another personal trainer, Dom, is taking over the lease. Dom wants me to quit my job and get cracking with private personal training clients, as he said if it wasn't for the prospect of me working there too, he wouldn't have been so sure about taking over the business. Adding the the wahoo factor, as I already use the studio for my Bowen Therapy clients, Aria left me his fully optioned and totally bitchen electric massage table for me to use, while I, generously handed him my old, clunky and totally manual massage table for his new studio.

Working with Dom promises to be exciting, as, what with me being pregnant, we've identified a massive gap in the ante and post natal pregnancy fitness market, and with him being strictly into PT and me being into PT and Bowen, our clients will intermingle and our businesses thrive. He's already said he'll take over my clients when my pregnancy progresses to the puff, puff, push push phase, and will then hand them back once I'm ready to come back. Fortunately, this kind of work is something that can, in theory at least, accomodate a baby - particularly once we get the ante and post natal clientele interested. I mean, how much more confidence would you have in a trainer who'd been through what she's helping you go through?

Currently, any PT clients I have are limited to the gym where I work, as without my own PT insurance, I'd be foolish to take on any privately. I have a small following there, and at least two of them are keen to follow me to the studio, where they will become my clients and a part of my business.

Now, ask me again why I haven't finalised my PT qualification. Good grief.

And I kind of meandered away from the gorgeous young man, didn't I? Oops.

So anyway, the baby etc.

I'm almost, but not quite, nineteen weeks pregnant today.

obligatory picture of someone else's baby

Last week, after four consecutive days of waking up freaking the fuck out, and four days of spending the rest of the day calm and confident of my baby's survival, the freaking out got the better of me on the fifth morning, so I rang the Women's Assessment Unit at my hospital, and they told me to come in Thursday afternoon to have the bejeezuz dopplered out of my belly.

Zinta, the transducer driver, told me that my totally bitchen abs are the reason my belly hasn't grown AT ALL in the last week or so, and those same abs plus the wriggle-ablity of my child explain why she had to prod and push so much. Junior was getting a little pissy, what with all the interference going on, and at this young age, has already demonstrated a preference for being as far away from a transducer as physically possible. Every time Zinta got a heatbeat, we'd hear a whoosh or a sqeak and cottonsocks in there would scoot away, leaving her to prod and push some more to find it again.

In short, my baby has a heartbeat - and I have a fifty dollar parking fine because, in my eagerness to hear that groovy beat, I parked in a damn bus zone. (I'm not an habitual law breaker, okay? The damn bus zone I parked in is only a bus zone between 4pm and 6pm and the dual signage confused me, what with all these pregnancy homrones completely anihilating my ability to think. Fucksake. That fifty bucks would've paid for a third of the iPod mini (Yes, mini. I aim low) I do so covet, which would've been a million times more fun than the stupid parking ticket. As an aside, I toyed wth the idea of scooting over the Stef's house and putting the ticket on his car, cuz how much fun would it be to have him come out in the morning and be all wtf? My carport is a no standing zone?' Bwah!)

Question: has anyone ever got a speeding fine or a parking ticket and thought 'By golly, that was so much FUN, I'd pay the three hundred and fifty bucks I now owe all over again, just to have that much FUN again!' No? No one? No, me neither.

Speaking of totally bitchen abs, while they may be pretty, they're also the kind that are much more likely to split down the middle than the regular, floppy kind. Zinta was all 'It's all perfectly natural, so don't freak out when you get this excruciatingly painful burning sensation around your belly button that signifies your muscles are splitting and your innards are falling out and spilling onto the ground.'.

I think that's when I lost consciousness....


One of the most troublesome way to go through life, is having to deal with an eating disorder. Thank you so much for putting up this blog to help others learn more about the dibilitating facts of these eating disorders

By Anonymous Anonymous, at 11:47 AM  

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