Every muscle in my body aches. Even ones I forgot I had. Even ones I didn’t know I had. Maybe even some I don’t have.
I’ve decided to start seeing a personal trainer since, over the past couple years, I’ve allowed myself to get to a point physically that I’m just not very happy about. I’ve also noticed, now that I’m solidly into my forty-fifth year, that things don’t work as well as they used to. I’ve lost strength, stamina, and flexibility and I’m just feeling old. I’m too young to feel old. And yes, while it is January and all kinds of bullshit resolutions are made at this time of year, I can say that had little to do with the timing of this decision. I’ve been thinking about it for some time and simply finally got around to it.
So I met with the guy Friday morning. He’s the proprietor of a small gym near our house and our first meeting was so he could evaluate my sorry condition. The guy is massive. Not big like a muscle bound linebacker, but proportionally huge. As if he’s been genetically manufactured to be a new kind of superhuman. He’s a former basketball player and has got to be at least 6’10” tall. Being from West Africa, his skin is very dark. He’s bald and has arms as big around as my thighs. Practically. Either way, he’s an intimidating specimen. Being six feet tall myself, I’m unaccustomed to being around people significantly taller than me, let alone guys I need to crane my head up to look at.
Of course, it’s like he walked straight out of some cuckolding wank story. I admit that the question of his endowment was often in my mind. But that’s me. A pervert.
Anyway, this was just a short evaluation session, but it still kicked my ass. He had me doing lunges, squats, jumping jacks, leg presses, and this sit-up-catch-and-throw-a-ball exercise. All that after he told me I had the hamstring flexibility of a 300 pound guy. Nice. And yes, all this was done while locked up.
I was’t sure if I would need to be unlocked to work out with him so I didn’t ask Belle to let me out. The only time it may have been visible was when he had me flat on my back and was holding my leg straight up and pushing it forward in, I assume, an attempt to rip it from my body. I’m fairly certain a somewhat out of place bulge may have presented itself then and I may have even seen him glance at it, but honestly, the searing pain of the ordeal has clouded my memory. There were no issues after that, though, so I’ve decided to continue on without special access to the penis and see how it goes. Besides it becoming visible, I don’t think there will be a practical reason to remove it. It won’t get in the way of any exercising I can think of and wasn’t at all uncomfortable during or after. Asking for access to the key would be all about vanity and that doesn’t seem like a good enough reason to me. I’ve decided that being locked up is who I am and how I live so I won’t let something like an occasional unusual bulge change that.
While this is a sex blog, not a workout blog, I have to imagine that as this new endeavor unfolds I will bring it up often. I will be seeing the trainer (either the massive black guy or his more reasonably-sized assistant who just happens to share my first name) three times a week. The device may or may not become an issue, so that would be a germaine DT topic. Plus, as I get into better shape, my body image may return to a point where I would feel comfortable sharing HNTs of something other than the penis and its steel tube.
But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Between now and then, it’ll just be nice to have a place to whine and/or talk about how I’m less of a giant white lump than I used to be.
11 thoughts on “A different kind of training”
You are braver than I. No way I’d be willing to go through that type of routine with a trainer wearing my Steelheart. Good for you!
It must be that kind of January. I just re-invested myself in my workout program, too. I put on about 10 pounds last year, after I had some knee trouble. It’s not a New Years resolution, so much as a “I wanna be below 200 for my 49th birthday” resolution. I’ve got only got about 10 to lose, and 5 months to do it.
Good luck, and do keep us posted!
I always imagined you having a great bod, Thumper. I remember the earlier pics.
I’m doing the same as you, though obviously without a trainer. Had a similar crisis over the aging body at 30. But the payback is awesome! Nothing’s better than Wondeboy grabbing my ass and exclaiming how hot it is now with a little more muscle. 😉 It’s also pretty cool to feel like I bounce off the treadmill, not like I’m dragging my feet on it.
Also, I’d never want to train with the female equivalent of your trainer. I’d feel too intimidated. And I don’t know what I’d do with a guy like that stretching my… hamstrings. 😀
“…when he had me flat on my back and was holding my leg straight up and pushing it forward in, I assume, an attempt to rip it from my body.”
*laugh* I cannot stop laughing at this.
I always thought that being a personal trainer would be an awesome job for a dominant sadist: “Shut up, you whiny bitch and give me ten more!!” *slap*
You are exactly right about that.
“Pain!? I’ll show you pain…”
Actually, that’s an idea. A dom/sub fitness center.
Hey Thumper – I’m very excited to hear that you got a trainer and look forward to reading more. Now, we can look forward to, and benefit from, Thumper-analysis (Thump-alysis??) of what it is like to not only workout frequently while locked but also how to manage the bulge in workout gear in a public setting. I’ve been working hard to manage those logistics myself.
I shall endeavor to keep you abreast of all the gory details. 😉
Will we be privileged to see a before photo?
Er, no. Sorry!