I have a really big head. And I don't mean in an inflated ego kind of way. I mean like: my head is really, truly, physically big. And the only reason I know this is because when I was getting ready to graduate from college, and we went to get fitted for caps and gowns, I got the GINORMOUS watermelon-sized cap for my GINORMOUS watermelon-sized noggin while the rest of my friends got wee little tangerine-sized caps for their wee little heads. WTF genetics?

Anyways - back in August I joined a gym. I was training for a half -drama at less than 1 month into training and also because OMFG it was summer (still - technically) in North Carolina and hotter than fucking Hades and there's only so much running one can do in extreme heat before one passes out and so joining a gym seemed like a good idea. 

So did hiring a trainer. I've worked out with trainers in the past and I always love it because really, there is nothing like paying someone to Kick. Your. Ass. And seriously - that's how I signed up for my trainer. I told the manager of the gym that despite my being a girl and a wee little thing, I was tough as balls and I wanted someone to kick the ever loving crap out of me, and so he paired me up with Manny. Ok - that's not really his name but the whole Manny Pacquiao/Floyd Mayweather brou-ha-ha has been in the news as of late and it seems like as good a pseudonym as any to choose from.

Anyways, Manny and I hit it off from Day 1 when he basically realized he was being paid to torture me could suggest anything and I'd say either "Ok" or "More weight please" or "You want 10? How about 15" or "Bring it motherfucker." 

We started out with super sets. Did some machine work (always jumping rope for 1 minute in between every. single. exercise.). There were suicides one day. Followed by burpees (OMG - worst name for an exercise EVAH). We used the ball and did core work. Free weights.  It didn't take long for Manny to catch on to my dedication.

"You a beast" he shouted at me while I struggled to hoist my flailing, exhausted body into a single, unassisted pull-up.

"You need to be on the cover of a Wheaties box because you a champ," he encouraged as I collapsed into a sweaty heap at the end of a particularly grueling session.

For 3 months I trained with Manny about once a week. At one point he told me that my dedication and my toughness made him a better trainer. He had to find the BEST exercises. The most CHALLENGING exercises. I was his SUPERSTAR client and NOTHING LESS would do.  I think we were in the middle of boot camp at the time and I politely told him to fuck off.

"Hold that stomach in." Ok Manny - what else am I gonna do with it?

"Do you feel that Rougie? DO YOU?" What am I Manny - hard of fucking feeling?

Seriously. Our sessions can be a little tense at times but in a good way and he seems to feel better about himself when I am telling him that as soon as I regain the ability to use my legs (squats on the rack - FTW!), I will promptly be kicking his ass.

Working with Manny turned out to be exactly what I needed and somewhere around Mile 11 of my half-marathon I was grateful for suffering through countless reps of squats and for all of the ab work we did because my body had the physical strength I needed to get through those last 2.1 miles. 

When Manny and I sat down to renew my contract last week, I told him I wanted to up it to twice a week.  As well as he's trained me thus far, and as good as I am at kicking my own ass when he's not around, I like having someone constantly challenge me and push me beyond my own my limits.  Meanwhile, he looked at me and told me that everything we had done up until this point had basically been pansy ass bullshit and we were going to seriously, seriously step up the game.

I looked at him like he was high because seriously - there ain't nothing pansy ass about the work I've put in for the last 3 and a half months. But he fixed his dark eyes on me and told me I was about to enter a whole new universe. "We're G.I. Jane'ing it now," he said. "So get ready."

And because I'm me, I didn't flinch. Not once. I simply told him to Bring It. But I refuse to shave my head because I have a REALLY big head.