Mr. Personal Trainer asked me today why I hadn’t Blogged about our kinky gym experiences.*
(Got your attention, didn’t it?)
I told him that I just hadn’t made a point of it, but I suppose now is as good a time as any.
You know those weightlifting belts that serious bodybuilders use? The heavy things that wrap around your waist and velcro closed? Smaller-proportioned ones exist, too. (For the life of me, I haven’t the foggiest clue what their official name is. Sue me.) The smaller ones have metal D-rings attached (whereby you shackle yourself to a machine to pull weights in whatever direction you feel might be appropriate).
So the first time we’re using these, Mr. P.T. is attaching one to my ankle, in preparation for such an exercise.
As it is sometimes wont to do of its own accord, my mouth opens, and before I know it, I say, “This is almost kinda kinky.” (Man, my mouth is gonna get me into major trouble one of these days…)
Mr. P.T. takes a moment to absorb just what the hell I’ve said, stands and says, with a grin on his face, “Hey now–this is a family establishment.”
Me, the picture of innocence: “Well, it is, though, isn’t it?”
Mr. P.T.: “Why do you think we have to lock these things away in a drawer? People used to steal them regularly.”
And now I start almost guffawing with laughter — and believe me, it’s nigh impossible to do either adduction or abduction exercises while laughing that hard.
I’m just glad he’s open-minded and has a sense of humor. Of course, he *is* the one who suggested the idea of setting a book in a gym. With his name changed, of course.
Who knew the gym could be such a valuable source of knowledge and information?
*Dude, YOU’RE the one who asked me about the Blog entry, so you had it coming.