March 12, 2013
Over the past year and a half I've made a very unintentional, but full and complete switch to a career as a fitness trainer--which cracks me UP, by the way. Now don't get me wrong here, I loooooove it. I just never expected it.
I think it's kind of hilarious that I have a carload of student loan debt from a masters degree in Public Administration, but I'm paying the bills with my six-week correspondence course.
Fine. Maybe it's not that extreme. But boyfriend, it's close.
With this unplanned change of plans, came a lot of unplanned issues, hazards, inconveniences, problems, you get the idea.
For example, fitness trainers do a lot of work before hours and after traditional hours. This means you might work until 9 o'clock one night and have to report for duty at 5:15 the next morning--but that's not the issue. The issue is that you're driving around at weird hours. And people, let me assure you that some incredibly weird things happens at these very weird hours.
4:45am? That is the strangest time of them all.
I've come to determine that more people than you might think are up and around at 4:45 in the morning. I've also determined that 65% of these people are up and starting their work day--but the other 35%? Yeah...they haven't quite made it to bed yet.
Last week, I was driving about half a mile from my house, approaching a stop sign, when ALL of the sudden--I exaggerate not--a woman with one leg, in a super rickety old wheel chair popped out in front of my car.
Obviously I was all, "F#$% me! I almost mowed down a one-legged woman!"
Then I was all, "F%^& me! Where'd she come from?"
And then I was all, "Oh nuh nuh nuh no. You've GOT to be kidding me--Jesus just plopped an angel in disguise, on my bumper, at 4:45 in the morning to see if I'd do the right thing. Crapcrapcrap."
So I pulled over, and I watched the woman struggle to push herself up hill, in the super slippery snow (for real, it was snowing), sliding all over the place. At this point, I could either A) Ignore the woman/JesusAngelTestCase, or B) Help the woman.
Welp, my dad taught me right (you know--to always help people AND be scared of hell), so I hopped out of my car and jogged up to the woman.
I said, "Hey..it looks slippery out here. Can I help you get where you're going?"
And she said, "Really? I'm going to the store. It's up there on the top of that hill."
And I said, "Pssshht. No problem. I'm a runner. I'll push you up there in five seconds."
Now cut to me, at 4:47 in the morning, jogging behind the one-legged woman's wheelchair, uphill, in a snow squall, acting like it wasn't hard. Really. Please indulge me and take a minute and let that one marinate.
She wanted to make conversation, bless her heart. I on the other hand, wanted to pretend this was a giant baby jogger with a giant baby who couldn't talk since I was quite possibly about to experience cardiac infarction. She was like, "God BLESS you, honey! Tell me your name!"
And I was like, "911."
So we finally got to the top of the hill, and I pushed her out of the snow, up to the entryway of the store. She took me by the hand, looked me in the eye, and I honestly, HONESTLY (remember here, the world is highly disorienting at 4:50 in the morning) thought we were about to have a Scooby Doo moment. In other words, I felt like Jesus was about to remove his one-legged old lady mask, pop his hidden foot out from under his bottom and be all, "Well doneth my child. Ye loveth thy neighbor as ye loveth thyself. May you have much money and eternal life in heaven after your hundreth birthday party."
Well, that's not so much how it went. She took me by the hand, looked me in the eye, and said, "God Bless you sweetheart. You really went out of your way to help me get my morning cigs."
Close enough. Close enough.
So that's one occupational hazard--weird and disorienting experiences at 5 o'clock in the morning. Some additional hazards include: The IRS, jock itch (not as sporty as it sounds), hemorrhoids, over training, and deltoid tendinitis.
Just something to keep in mind if you're considering a career switch.
