There have been some great articles right here on FitnessVolt.com of late about the problems of alcohol as it pertains to weight training. I’m in awe of the dedication it takes to step away from a party for the sake of your health and well-being.
I cannot reliably be counted on to have the same dedication.
In fact, I might even go so far as to say that if it weren’t for the conversations that I have with my trainer Eli, I might have even less! You see, he doesn’t just TRAIN me… he talks to me. Some might call it interrogation, but I try to be kinder hearted than that… usually.
I believe that the talking is just as important as the training. It’s a constant re-evaluation. And we really do talk about everything.
“What did you work last?”
… to the amusing…
“You tried skiing for the first time ever? Seriously Eli? And you didn’t take any pictures of the event for me to see? What kind of friend are you?”
He questions my state of mind and resolve regarding training and diet. He quizzes me on any potential areas of over or under training (I’m a little lax when it comes to bi’s and tri’s I admit). He asks limitless and if I may say, rather shameless questions about my diet.
After a recent, how shall I put it? errrr… indulgent weekend, we had a conversation that went like this.
“So how many days a week are you having cheats?” I honestly wondered if the slice of phyllo wrapped feta showed up on my thighs that quickly.
“Does that include wine?” I thought I was being clever by changing the topic.
“Let’s start with the food.” He’s not easily distracted… sadly.
“Once maybe twice”
Wine?” Uh-oh I thought.
“Erm… that might be more.”
“How much more?” He asks, expression steely as always.
“Well, I like to say that I keep it to two days per week, but that doesn’t always happen… Are we counting seven days or Monday to Monday?” I smile, I hope disarmingly.
“Stace… how many days?”
“Okay more like three days.” Eyes downcast like a guilty witness on the stand.
“So how many glasses?”
“Three.” Complete honesty my only choice.
“Over the three days?”
I cock an eyebrow.
“EACH TIME?” He ask incredulously.
“Don’t judge… judger… sometimes parties just spring up around me… I can’t help it you know! I’m just that girl! I’m a party magnet!”
The conversation ends right there. Abruptly. Inevitably he thrusts a set of considerably heavier plates on the bar that I’ve been squatting. Then elegantly (or so he thinks) changes the subject. The topic is now focussed on determination, goals and muscle definition… damn him. It works every time.
I have a “party emergency” as I like to call it every couple of months or so, okay, maybe more often. But meeting with Eli on Monday mornings never ceases to help me see the problems I’m creating for myself. My own worst enemy as the old saying goes.
If I didn’t have him, I would have only my party animal friends to lean on. As fun as they are, I think we can agree they aren’t going to be particularly helpful in that arena.
And now I highly recommend that you flip back to the other articles outlining the problems with alcohol and weight training… I know I’m going to… Eli would be so proud.
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