I hate my trainer.

My trainer, Sean, is a good guy. He's quiet, seems introspective, modest; maybe a bit shy. He's a good looking kid studying health, nutrition and fitness. But get him on the gym floor and all that changes.

When the workouts begin, he becomes this sado-masochistic bastard. He loves to inflict pain and loves to feel.. my pain. And since having him for a little over two months now, he's begun to step up the workouts. There's less rest in between each set, there's more weight involved. The fucking planks are over a minute! I hate him.

I'm currently writhing in pain. Seriously. I cannot sit up without uttering expletives. It's hard to type in the fetal position, I assure you. My whole upper body is burning with pain. Some people may enjoy this odd feeling, but I do not. Maybe in my younger, more rebellious days but not now.

Yes, I jest. Sean is the best. And though that rhymes, it wasn't purposeful. It would be cute or funny if it had purpose. ;-) Anyway, though the pain is awful, the results aren't. I can see the definition in my shoulders and chest peeping out. I can feel my abs begin to take shape. My legs are much stronger and of course, the fat is coming off. It's had an affect on my confidence, my personality and my outlook on life. They're all much better.

So, as I crawl about the floor today and get my bearings, I continue on... knowing that I am a better man than I was yesterday.