I regularly work out with professional assistance. I have a unique situation – I exercise with not one but two personal trainers.

#1 is a fellow with whom I worked out for a year or so. Then he took a job elsewhere. I was transferred to #2. Then #1 came back. When my training contract wanted renewing, I thought I would have the dilemma of which fellow to choose. But they came up with a solution –  I would do both. Both are good men, and I see advantages in the mixture of styles.

Both suffer that after a day of listening to everybody, they have to listen to me – a captive audience as it were. I feel like Sylvia Fowler at her exercise.

It is a nice thought two brawny men fought over who would have me.

#2 likes working with machines. He tends to rotate me through 3 exercises ‘in a circuit’. I became a ‘circuit boy’ at the near age of 50.

#2 is also good ‘for abs” – which is my main area for need. Despite having many clients, #2 tends to remember every word I ever said to him. He is always bubbly and supportive.  An evil-gnome goal of mine is getting him to say ‘Well, that sucked” or “You did a bad job”.

#1 tends towards free weights, which makes me feel butch. He has the ongoing advice “You need to stick your butt out” or ‘where is your butt, is it out?” It provides for a few Benny Hill moments.

#1 likes me to do nasty lunges and exercises with strange Eastern European names.

#1 gives good rub downs and stretches after our works outs. Oooh that feel lovely.

At the moment I don’t have good goals for my work outs, other than the nonspecific not-very-helpful “I want to be big and studly”.

“Working out with you two and being stretched”  is also not enough.

Whatever, I am having jolly good fun.