Flattery Will Get You

Last week when I went to my training session at the gym, Megan dropped a bomb on me.

She was leaving. She got a new job at a new gym and would be starting this week.

I was excited for her, especially when she told me about the significant boost in pay she'd be getting. She's fun, upbeat and a great motivator, so I know she'll do well at the new gig. But of course, I was sad for myself. I'd been working with her for two months, and under her tutelage, I have seen results.

As her last act as my trainer, Megan offered to schedule me a session with a different trainer for this week. I asked her to recommend someone who was fun and entertaining, and she gave me a guy named Jeremiah. I had my first session with him last night.

Jeremiah is a nice kid. (He's 20, and now that I'm 30, I figure it's alright to call someone who is 20 "kid"). He really wasn't that fun and entertaining at first though, and I kind of need someone who will chat with me; otherwise, I will realize I'm doing squats and suddenly want to leave.

So I asked him about his background, where he lives, what he enjoys. I found out that two months ago, he smashed into a fire hydrant while running down the street, and I saw the huge scar that pretty much encircles his entire right knee. But the jury was still out on whether or not I would like working with him.

Then he mentioned that he's going to be 21 in a few months, and I told him I just turned 30. He was genuinely surprised and told me I looked like mid-20s to him.

Have I mentioned that Jeremiah is awesome?