Shawn Everyman, Part II

We return you now to the story of Shawn, the Prince of Pain, the Amazing Personal Trainer…


And another thing about Shawn, and this actually differentiates him from Satan: he has good manners. No, he has exceptional manners. Shawn introduces everyone who walks in the door to whomever he’s working with. Unheard of. Of course, five minutes later I didn’t always remember the names of the people he introduced me to, but I attributed that to the fact that I was trying to focus on not passing out performing all my torture exercises correctly.

The other trainers, Brian and Lisa, are equally well-mannered, and since they are Shawn’s siblings, I guess their parents should be getting a gold medal for Raising Polite Children. If it were an Olympic event, I think we could safely predict the outcome. I’m just saying…

Anyhoo, one day I was in there, gasping my last breath working with Shawn when in walked Linda. Shawn introduced us as she headed over to the treadmill. Then we realized that the gym was occupied by Shawn, Lisa, Leah, Lila, Laura, Lori, Lucy, Linda, Lindsey and Lainey. Okay, maybe I made a couple of those up, but there were truly five of us there! So I asked Shawn if he was scheduling us alphabetically by first name. I believe I might have also asked him, “What the L, man?” Groan…



Not Shawn, not me. Just a couple of actors, doing a re-enactment.  Uh-huh.



Shawn loves his family and speaks of them with great love and affection. He planted a sizeable garden this year, and he generously shared the harvest with his clients. Tomatoes, cucumbers, cilantro-- an impressive feat, and a delicious crop!  Part of his reason for the garden was to share the experience with his pre-school age daughter. How cool is that?

Shawn is a dedicated recycler. I mean dedicated. His wife thinks maybe too dedicated, but you be the judge.

Shawn told me the story of their neighbors, foreign nationals who often traveled home for weeks at a time. When they were gone, Shawn and his wife would water their lawn, hold their mail and generally keep an eye on things.

One night Shawn’s wife got a call from the neighbors, saying that they had returned home. They were coming over for their mail. Only one problem: she couldn’t find it.

“Shawn! Where’s the bag of mail for the Smiths?”

“I don’t know, Babe—where’d you put it?” he answered.

“It was in the laundry room in a Trader Joe’s bag,” she told him. A cold chill swept across his brow, even though beads of sweat were popping out everywhere else.

“Uh… I uh… um… maybe I recycled it? It sure looked like recycling…”

Only a really big man can admit that big a mistake.

The neighbors forgave him.

His wife is thinking about it.