Dear Personal Trainer

Dear Personal Trainer
I know you.
Well I thought I did.
I follow you on your Facebook because a friend of mine did and what I read on your profile sounded great. “Caring, genuine, will work with you towards your goals”. 
You are an expert in what I need “To lose weight and tone up”.

Personal Trainer, I know you. I know everything YOU eat and when your “bulk” weeks are. I know when YOU have been to the gym. 
I see your photos on my news feed. Your biceps flexed. You with weights on some machine I don’t even know, talking about “getting those gains”. What does that even mean? Your semi sweaty face with your ipod in and wearing your best gym clothing outfit which would probably buy my food for the week.

Personal Trainer, I know you.
I see your stair climb challenges and app updates of the distance you have run which is as far as I drive to work. I read your updates about your “fat” days. I also see your feasts of food and updates as you bounce out of bed because your feel “down and out” when you don’t workout.

Personal Trainer, I know you.
But you don’t know me.

Dear Personal Trainer
You have no idea about WHO I AM and what I face, you are far too consumed with yourself.
Your selfies shit me. If that’s a “bad day” because you only ran 8km and not 15km, then freaking shoot me now. 
When you call your skinny arse fat, you make a mockery of people, people who actually know what being overweight is. Depression is. Sadness is. Social isolation is. Fear is. Illness IS.

You don’t know how I crave sugar after every meal, sit on the couch with the inner dialogue and hating myself because I wish I could be more like you. Wish my “willpower” worked. Wishing and hoping and praying that tomorrow will be a fresh start. I know me.
You don’t know that many people haven’t ever owned a “gym outfit” and nor have they ever had the confidence to walk into one of the shops which sell gym clothes. 

Personal Trainer, you don’t get how much people would love to be able to walk the distance you run, orjust enter a gym. Many people would love to feel comfortable enough in a gym to even park outside and not feel like the worlds greatest loser.

You want people to spend hours and hours in the kitchen, people are busy. 
You want people to be gourmet chefs. People want simplicity and taste and EASY!
You want people to activate muscles from all angles recruiting as many muscles fibres until fatigue. People want to be able to walk a flight of stairs without passing out.
You want people to go to a gym twice a day. People want to be able to get it done, wam, bam, thank you mam.

Dear Personal Trainer, you don’t know who I am and I don’t think you know people because you are too busy taking selfies of your muscles, worrying about body fat percentage and abs showing that you don’t give a rats about the fact that people wake up at night wishing to feel confident and dreading summer because it means less clothes to hid under.

People are crying. While you’re taking photos.
People are dying of depression. While you are shaking protein powders.
People are screaming out for someone to listen and you have your ipod in.
Personal Trainer, we may have the same title. But, we are worlds apart.
I’m changing my name.

Kate Pinkfitz
‘Who actually gives a Fcuk’

Disclaimer: This is to every generic personal trainer, selfie taking, tool face and not to the actual trainers who genuinely care and would cook their clients meals if they need too. There are fantastic trainers out there and I urge you to find THE BEST, because YOU are worth it. 
I have just “unliked” about 30 pages. No more “sweat is pain crying” CRAP on my newsfeed!
If you know a great trainer, tag them below and let’s celebrate the industry of passion and care and the good trainers out there and show the selfie Pt’s that it ain’t all about them.

Di Kennedy