Schooling the Trainer

I am officially halfway through my contracted sessions with my trainer. I am delighted to have finally crested the halfway mark, and I'm now able to start the countdown to the finish. I'm not giving up on fitness, by any means. I am starting to feel more toned, and I am enjoying my newly developed muscle strength and agility.
While I am like the physical transformation, I continue to detest every moment at the gym. I fully anticipated muscle fatigue, soreness, and a lot of sweat. Perhaps all of their hyper-focusing on muscle burn and calorie expenditures has caused them to experience lapses in memory. I am constantly having to explain my prosthetic limitations, and I find myself feeling both angry and resentful.


This week, after explaining yet again the pain that occurs inside my socket when I am attempting to "frog swat," I was asked to perform the same movement carrying two 8 pound weights. I put down the weights and asked for an alternative exercise. I guess nobody has ever challenged them before because it took several minutes of fumbling around on the clipboard before I was offered another movement. I was going to ask why it took so long to tell me to do jumping jacks, but I decided it probably wasn't the best time to be witty.


Towards the end of my session after I had adjusted for the volume change within my socket by adding another sock, I was asked to do a series of kicking exercises. At first I thought he was joking. I mean, who would knowingly ask an amputee to kick right after they were told that the prosthetic suspension was compromised? The scowl on his face let me know that he wasn't joking. I held onto the weight bench and I carefully began to count through my series of kicks.


He asked me to kick harder through my quad, to create more of a flicking action. I knew it was a bad idea. But I also knew that he wasn't going to listen to me. He was convinced that my cautious attempt at the exercise was due to fatigue and not "pushing through the pain to feel the burn."

I tried to explain the issue, and he told me to "stop making excuses." I became angry. I took a deep breath, and then I knew what I was going to do.

I adjusted my position slightly, held onto the weight bar tightly and began to kick. 9, 10, 11, 12 kicks; I knew there was no going back. My socket suction was completely broken. On kick 13, I provided the "snap" as instructed.

My leg flew off and, to my delight, knocked over my trainer's latte, spilling the foamy coffee concoction all over the gym floor.  He was horrified. I tried to keep the smirk off my face as I hopped past him and retrieved my leg.

Maybe now he will listen to me when I am explaining my prosthetic issues. If not, I have a new found confidence knowing that I apparently have perfect aim!