Shawn. Five letters, starts with S, ends with N, the only vowel it uses is A. Hmmm. What other name does that sound like? Could it be… SATAN?
Oh yes, the original Prince of Darkness has nothing on Shawn, the personal trainer and fitness guru who’s been torturing helping me on my journey to fitness.
Shawn, who works me till my eyes bleed, who makes my face the color of a beet, who makes me sweat like the proverbial dog.
--Naw, Shawn knows I’m kidding. One of the great things about working out with Shawn is his wonderful sense of humor. We laugh a lot as he pushes me beyond what I believe I can do.
If my husband, the Center of the Universe (CoTU) weren’t likely to read this, I’d also tell you how good-looking Shawn is, but I’d better not go there. CoTU’s likely to start questioning the shorts and tops I wear to work out in. The fact that I’m probably older than Shawn’s mother would mitigate the situation somewhat, but still… let’s not discuss the fact that my neighbor (who also trains with Shawn) never fails to mention how “easy on the eyes” he is. (He, being Shawn, not CoTU.) (Sorry, CoTU.)
The reason I know Shawn has a sense of humor is because he is able to laugh at with at me when I’m trying to follow his instructions. He’ll show me a simple move, I’ll try to repeat it, and come nowhere close. I’m raising my hand weights when I’m supposed to be stepping, or I’m reaching when I should be bending. It’s pretty comical; at least it is if you’re the PRINCE OF PAIN.
Years ago when my friend Gail and I took “Beginning Tap” with our adolescent offspring (my daughter, her son) I learned exactly why my mother never wasted her money on dancing lessons for me. I told Gail I should be in “Remedial Tap”; I was no ordinary ‘beginner’. There were a couple of tiny 6-year olds in the class who always picked up the new steps immediately, in sharp contrast to us. Gail pointed out to me on the way home one night that the little kids actually look like they’re dancing. “While we,” I observed, “look like we’re breaking down carburetors.”
So, “Just six more!” and “Ten more seconds!” and “You can do it!” from Shawn lead me to “Curse you, Shawn!”, “You’re killing me!”, and “No, I really CAN’T!” back at him. We use a lot of exclamation points over at his gym.
I mop my brow with a towel, take a swig of water from my BPA-free bottle, and try to get my heart rate under control.
Then it’s another round to complete the workout.
Shawn? --he never breaks a sweat. I guess that’s part of his charm. He's very muscular and the picture of fitness. But why is that red pitchfork standing in the corner?
Next post: One great story about Shawn, his family, and how very UN-Satanlike he is!
Posts
I think I need a Shawn!
ReplyDeleteI used to be Shawn.....or the girl version of Shawn. Back the the 80's in the last century, I was a personal trainer and was very good at counting reps up to 12. Yes, it's true, we don't sweat but really, all that counting can be very stressful.
ReplyDeleteI've worked out with Shawn too or at least someone closely related to Shawn. Personal trainers are always so much younger than we are and they really have no idea how much of your body stops working in middle age. I didn't know either until recently but the facts are the facts. And people would consider me to be in good shape.
ReplyDeleteI'm a new fan. You made me temporarily forget how frustrating my morning has already been. Thanks for that :-)
Saying hi from SITS, by the way.
I need Shawn, too! Good for you for getting into shape.
ReplyDeleteThis was hilarious. I kinda wish I had a Shawn!
ReplyDelete