I love my personal trainer, I really do. His name is Josh, and he’s one of the trainers at Gold’s Gym in Parramatta. I love him, and I love the feeling I get after sessions with him. It’s just during the session that I continually tell him that I hate him or accuse him of trying to kill me. He pushes, and tells me to go faster, or harder, or stronger. He lies about his counting so I end up doing more reps than he said I was going to do, and it would seem that I am achieving results!
The sessions with Josh are fun too. We talk about shit, and I tell him the bizarre thoughts that come into my head, like wouldn’t it be cool if we could desalinate sweat and then drink it?
I have a 7am session with him tomorrow, and I will probably tell him numerous times that I hate him, but I think he’s using the amount of times I say that as a measure of how good the session was.
