Before last year, other than for Physical Education classes when I was in school or to watch an athletic event, I’d been in a gym exactly once. Hated it. Didn’t have the first clue what I was supposed to do, did too much, and after suffering for the next week, vowed I’d never set foot in a gym again.

My decision to join a gym last September stemmed entirely from a desire to save money. I’d been going to Zumba three or four times a week and paying by the class. A gym membership was cheaper and gave me other workout options. Given my prior experience, I decided to go with a plan that allowed me to see a personal trainer once a week.

The Biggest Loser inspired my preconceived notions about personal trainers. I just knew a Jillian Michaels clone would be kicking my ass once a week for the next year. I hoped I wouldn’t barf.

I had to wait a week or two to find out who my trainer would be. Meanwhile, I checked out all the trainers any time I went to the gym. Who would be mine?

Enter Armand, pronounced in a distinctly Georgia-fied way: ARmand–like Arm and Hammer. Rather than the Hulk Hoganish physique I expected, he looks like a perfectly normal guy. Until you look real close (and believe me, I did), you really can’t tell just how muscular he really is.

Armand is a nice-looking man with no visible tattoos. He keeps his hair cut short and strikes me as the all-American boy next door. He’s a student at UGA majoring in–get this–English and Philosophy. He ran track in high school but otherwise, as far as I know, hasn’t been overly involved in sports.

The thirty minutes I spend with Armand every week are intense. He pushes me really hard, but has never been anything but super nice. He’s such a nice guy that If it wasn’t such hard work, I’d probably even look forward to our weekly visits.

I’ve been really good. Though I often think about canceling, I’ve so far only missed one session with him. Along the way I’ve learned a few tricks. I show up a few minutes late, do the exercises as slowly as possible, and take lots of breaks in-between to catch my breath, grab a drink of water, or to stretch tired muscles. I’m pretty sure he’s on to me.

The thing I like most about Armand is his always upbeat and positive attitude. I often express disappointment with the lack of obvious results. He’s quick to point to how much progress I’ve made, citing specific examples of how much better I am at A, B, and C. When that’s not enough, he whips out his tape measure to see how much I’ve grown (or shrunk, depending on the body area).  In the end I always feel a lot better about my progress.

Armand is very good-looking, smart, and about as nice as he could be. I also believe he’s the best trainer at our gym–certainly the best looking. Initially I worried this might be a problem. It’s not. I really like him but strangely, am not the least bit attracted to or interested in him. That probably has a lot to do with the wonderful man who lives with me here in…

My Glass House