I frequently run into a woman at the gym. She’s talked about signing on with a personal trainer and wanted to know if I’d be interested in joining her in order to get a pairs discount. In spite of the fact that I really should be training for a half marathon, I’m just not terribly enthused by the idea of a personal tyrant.
I went to the area where the trainers congregate and watch for new business. They sparked conversations as we approached, each offering some sort of specialized skill or package deal. It felt eerily like walking through the red light district in Amsterdam.
We spoke with a few, and went away to discuss the situation. I presented her with a few Rules for Picking a Trainer that had become crystal clear to me while talking with that particular group.
1. If she looks like she just had her hair and makeup done for a night at the club, complete with bright eyeshadow, flowing curls and a full bottle of hairspray, it doesn’t matter that she’s in a tracksuit and Nikes: she’s not the one for me.
2. If the guy is a triathlete, he clearly has a different mindset than I do: he’s not the one for me.
3. If the woman casually mentions that I could stand to lose a few pounds (note: I may not be as toned as I used to be, but my BMI is 20.8, the lower half of normal): she’s not the one for me.
4. If the man is short and makes ridiculous and uncomfortable comments about how much taller I am, there’s no need to pursue that any further: he’s not the one for me.
We talked about the options at length, and after having a good laugh at my observations, we decided to meet at the gym four times a week to encourage each other to work harder and longer, an option that saves us each $40 per session.