The Train in Spain...

Yesterday was my first day of personal training.

I have mixed feelings.

It's a little awkward. Because you're a trainer in New York City. It's different than been a trainer in Poughkipsie. They expect something different. I don't know--more polish? More confidence?

And if you've been lifting logs for the past year, it can be hard to grasp the notion that other people *can't*.

But despite how awkward it is, one thing keeps me moving forward with this, keeps my eye on the prize and gives me the boost I need when I feel like giving up:

The iPhone.

Client #1: Hektor Salsa-Verde

Hektor used to be in really good shape. Then he became a serious drug-addict. Now he's a born-again Christian working at Times Quare First Happy Clappy Church of Ecclesitonians. He's raising four children on his own and on the waiting list for a liver transplant.

He clearly can't afford the $1400 40-session package. And what's more, he doesn't need it. At most, we just need three sessions to teach him proper form and how to use the elliptical machine.

It won't make Them happy, but I don't care. I got in this business to help people. The iPhone can wait.

For now.

Client #2: Alvin Simon

Alvin is pretty hopeless. He's from Australia but has an accent I simply cannot place. He's in New York for five weeks with an internship at the Untied Notions building.

He's about my age, a lanky beanpole, and, of course, has a secret desire to get buff.

But towards the end of our session he almost passed out. Like, "What the crap is wrong with this guy?" passed-out.

I sat him down and got him some water. "Did you have anything to eat or drink before you came here?" I asked. He, sheet-white, replied, "I had a hotdog and chocolate croissant at 2."

It was 6. Dude. We've got our work cut out for us.

And finally,

Client #3: Nihkcoalle

I kind of hate Nihkcoalle.

She was the one that made me think personal training wasn't for me.

Brassy, sassy, hateful, rude, with a mouth like a sailor, middle aged, flabby, unwilling to change her diet, entitled white princess from Dallas, she pissed me off so much I put her through a circuit I knew would make her sweat. But do you think she stopped talking for two minutes?

Nope. Instead I heard about her exercise-loathing hog of a best friend who used to be 260lbs and then had liposuction and is now, like, 125.

I mean, just LOOK at the RIDICULOUS way she spells her name. RIGHT AWAY you should know what we're in for. A woman who, all her life, has said in thick "Dally Girl" voice, "Ex-CUSEME. It's not spelled Nicole. It's spelled NHIKCHOALLE."

But she really wants to lose weight. So we're meeting two more times this week, which means I have to see her nappy face for two whole hours. Ugh. I don't wanna.

iPhone.

iPhone.