Gym trainers have it rough. When they do their best to get your heart rate into that fat burning zone, you probably complain about their demonic tendencies. And when you get the body you’ve been dying for, it’s suddenly all because of your hard work.

And what about the man or woman who has endured your crying and bitching? Who, despite your laziness, has tried to feed you a steady dose of motivation? What do they get? Job satisfaction maybe?

Last week was a hellish week and it was even worse in gym. Trainer Thurston Pearce knocked me with some heavy cardio based workouts. He understood that I’d missed gym time and he did his best to power up my workouts. Bless the man!

I think I’ll trust his judgment. Pearce strikes me as an artist of some sort much like myself. Where I carve memories and create worlds from words; he carves and creates healthy, beautiful bodies using his own blend methods.

So this week, when I’m down on the ground doing mountain climbers and fancy push ups I’ll try to remember that Pearce is just an artist and I am the material.

Me, in the middle of some fancy push-up.

Sharing a quick moment with you while I’m on the go.
Sara.