The day I met Jen, who would later become my personal trainer and lover, was when I did something I both hated and needed to do. I joined a gym. At 48, I wasn't in the worst shape of my life but certainly not the best. My job kept my busy and on my feet a lot, but my growing midsection and love handles made me mildly disgusted whenever I glanced at my body in the long bathroom mirror.
So, I bought one of those free trial memberships at my local gym. Bought a new pair of lightweight gray workout shorts and a loose tanktop. Wore my worn but comfortable trainers on my feet. But soon after I entered the main area of the place, taking in all those weight machines along with many musclebound, in-shape men (and quite a few attractive women in tight outfits), I felt way out of my league.
As I am
