Last Saturday (no not the one I blogged about, the one with the Chinese supermarket trip, the beer garden and Amy Winehouse’s untimely death) I passed my assessment which means, if I wanted to, I can now work as a Personal Trainer.
It’s not been easy. Anyone who goes to the gym and sees PTs in action would be forgiven for thinking that it’s a cinch and that anyone can do that. Rather naively I thought my enjoyment of going to the gym and working out would naturally make me a good PT and that the course was going to be a piece of cake (hypothetical cake, natch, after the nutrition part.)…I was wrong.
If anyone has been reading this blog since last year they’ll remember that I found the first assessment excruciatingly nerve-wracking (http://woollysweirdworld.blogspot.com/2010/04/when-faced-with-my-demons-i-clothe-them.html ) they may also then question why I chose to put myself through the second, harder phase of the course? And yes, this was a question I frequently asked myself as I spent my two week holiday revising for a nutrition exam, I spent most of January and February desperately trying to learn all the ‘origins and insertions’ of the major muscles plus numerous other things for the anatomy and physiology exams that made my head hurt and my mind go blank.
In addition to this I had a three hour seminar every week, a two hour gym shift so I could hone my skills (endless inductions to people who expected just by turning up in some snazzy new gear they’d probably lose a stone) and in addition to that a couple of sessions a month on a Saturday evening. Yes a Saturday evening.
So a certain level of commitment was required.
But I did it.
Oh the relief! The euphoria! I had dreaded the exam and probably went to the toilet about 402 times that morning due to nerves. Even though my nemesis exercise (cable woodchop) was chosen on the exam, I had the internal verifier present and an added audience of the mad Thai woman who practically lives in the gym; I ‘screwed my courage to the sticking place’ and I passed.
Wow!
People are surprised when I say that, at the moment, I am probably not going to do anything with it. But, to use reality TV jargon, ‘the journey’ has been enough for me and the amount of knowledge I have gained not only to train myself more effectively (I’ll tell you once it starts working!) but also on the nutrition side (who knew white potato was the devil incarnate?) has been invaluable.
Trouble is, of course, there is that niggling little feeling; that omnipresent nagging doubt, the little whispering voices that creep into my head asking me what am I going to next? Because, dear reader, I am never satisfied. I always have to be doing something, learning something, achieving, learning new skills, picking up new hobbies, trying new things, ticking things off on life’s great ‘to do’ list. Why is this so? Why am I not content just to coast along with a 9-5 job then go home and watch crap TV until its dinner time, until its bedtime, until it’s time to go to sleep, wake up and do the same sorry routine all over again? Why do I always crave adventure, new experiences, and stimuli? Maybe, even at the age of 34 I haven’t reached my career potential or found my niche? Is it too late? What am I good at? What can I try next?
Questions… questions. Oh and they where rhetorical by the way.
I suggest you watch this space…
Congratulations :)
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