I Hired a Personal Trainer... & Survived

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I'm lazy. Exhibit A: My digital video recorder (DVR). This fine machine begs me to come home and view hours of recorded programming on medical deformities, aspiring fashion designers and DIY meth labs ‑- all while lying comatose on my sofa. Throw in a sweet boyfriend alongside me, and being stationary seems sexy ‑- enter the "happy pudge." Oh, love, it's the root of all evil.

This is when it gets really evil.

One Sunday, the boyfriend was minding his business when I did the unthinkable. I asked him if he thought my breasts looked bigger. He turned, looked down and said, "Yeah, they look good. You've gained a few pounds." The poor thing.

I'll skip the part where I burst into tears, sheer terror filled his eyes and I started screaming "Sweet Jesus!" like a banshee.

Let me be clear. I'm not obsessed with my weight or reliant on what my guy thinks about my body to make me happy. However, I grew up in a family where almost everyone is overweight ‑- not only overweight, but riddled with diabetes, high blood pressure and heart disease. It's not just about weight ‑- it's about mortality. When you start to see your body change and your metabolism slow down, a whole new set of priorities come into play. My growing chest wasn't the issue ‑- it was that damn family history.

I wanted professional help.

My friend Dawn had been raving about her personal trainer (and the borderline psychotic 5:30am workout time) and had me chat up her "guru" Gene Darconte ‑- a veteran trainer at Crunch Fitness who calls a spade a spade. "This thing called fitness, it's not only difficult, it's boring. It's a gym fact that 8 out of 10 people who will join any facility today will never be seen here again. Most of my clients tell me they would not set foot in this building without me." Ain't that the truth.

Cut to Fort Greene Sports & Fitness (now part of Crunch), and me signing up to meet my new "best friend" ‑- personal trainer Carl Ditmars ‑- a former NFL player who was going to whip me into shape. He looked like he could kill a man ‑- and I liked that. If I was going to get fit, I wanted to know that coddling wasn't an option. As he told me, "I push the women harder. I tell the truth; that is what women want. I also show the positives. Women are hard on themselves as it is." That's an understatement.

Carl proved to be the perfect motivator. He took the time to figure out what I wanted to achieve (tone, strength, increased energy and stamina), gave me options I needed in my fitness routine, (a variation of workouts ‑- with him and on my own) and he let me chat him up about his lady friend. When we started, I was certain he was a sadist ‑- the squats, the circuit training, the ungodly push-ups. Giving up sometimes seemed like an awesome option. But something happened: I started to have fun. Now I (almost) look forward to getting up at 6:30am twice a week to sweat ‑- and feel accomplished before I get to work. Hell, I'm even there on the weekends because I want to make Carl (and myself) proud when he's not around to tough-love me.

I (again) feel good in my clothes and, more importantly, my skin ‑- and that's my motivation. Gotham Global Fitness founder Ary Nunez subscribes to this 100 percent when training her clientele, "I aim to develop their self esteem and confidence to be the best they can be. For the most part, the goal is to feel better, be healthier and look great." Having a cheerleader has definitely made attaining my goals of getting healthier easier ‑- and, in turn, it makes me want to work harder.

Exercising is now part of my regime ‑- along with my DVR ‑- and that shall not change. Now, though, when I throw myself on that sofa and pop a few Cheetos, I feel good about it because I worked for it. Sometimes a little honesty ‑- plus some help ‑- can go a long way.