I turn the big "three uh-oh" in 66 days and as an early gift to myself, I've hired a personal trainer.
It's not like I'm a stranger to exercise or that I need the will power to get up and do something. I wanted a professional who could guide me and create a workout designed for my goals and body. Goal: see picture to the left. No explanation necessary.
Translation: I wanted someone to kick my smiling derriere.
Speaking of the gluteus maximus, my trainer Christy, has a tooshie off which you could bounce a quarter. In fact she's got abs, arms, a back and thighs off which you could bounce a stack of quarters. She is a fitness model and knows her shit. I mean really knows her shit. In the three sessions we've already had, I've learned a lot about how the body works and she's proven to me that working out isn't necessarily about how hard you go, but more about how smart you work. Just yesterday we finished up our session with squats and lunges. Two sets of twenty for each may sound mildly intense, but with her corrections of my posture, twenty was all it took to get me to reach muscle failure. My legs were shaking and burning by the fifteenth rep and I was pouring sweat. In one hour with Christy, I burned 600 calories!
I'm motivated to look good this summer for our vacation to the Outer Banks. My best girlfriends and I rented a house with our hubbies and a few other friends to celebrate three decades of the good life.
Simply stated: I want to look as good as I feel inside. My life is charmed and I'm not afraid or anxious about my 30s. In fact, I'm excited at all that awaits. I hit the lottery with my husband, my family is awesome, I have the best friends in the world, and I'm lucky that I found a career that I love. It doesn't get much better.
So here's to celebrating life, washboard abs, navy blue string bikinis and trainers that rock.
Go big, or go home, or hit the gym.