Earlier this week I was chatting to one of the trainers at my gym about six-packs.
“I hate this flab,” I told him, grabbing my mid-riff. “I want it gone. I want a six-pack like Fernando Torres.”
“If you come here three times a week, you will have one in a month,” he told me.
I didn’t believe him, of course. But it’s worth a try.
So we began on September 26th and he assures me that by October 26th I will be a lean, mean fighting six-pack bearing machine.
Of course I don’t really want to look like Fernando, but I would dearly love SOME definition, even if it’s only as hint. The fat melting went some of the way (see previous blog) but this is the next stage.
We have had two sessions so far and at the moment my abs hurt pretty much every time I breathe. It is gruelling, hideous in fact, and time goes soooo slowly. Baba, as the trainer is called, tends to do three sets of 25 on each exercise. So you start off something pretty much unbearable such as squat jumps with weights knowing you have 50 more to come. Then just as you’re thinking ‘this isn’t too bad’ he throws in a minute’s worth of mountain climbers or some other torture.
“You will have a six-pack in a month,” he tells me to motivate me when I plead for mercy. It does help, as do mental images of other six-packs such as the one pictured here.
You will be relieved to hear that I won’t be posting pictures of my own lack of six-pack or indeed any progress.
But if, on October 26th, I have a wash-board stomach, you will be the first to see it.
Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2012