Personal Trainer.
I hate that job title. I’ve struggled with it for years. Someone asks what I do and I catch myself saying “I’m a personal trainer, BUT…”
Personal trainer somehow conjures up this image of a superfit coach who is going to miraculously turn you into the superfit through various means of physical torture and abusive yelling. I say “Personal trainer” and the person immediately looks down, hiding the contents of their grocery cart/party plate or abashedly tugging their shirt over their soft belly. Allow me to speak for all trainers when I say “We’re so much more than this!”
There has never been a time in my career where I have felt it more acutely that my job title does my work no justice. You can read more below, but suffice it to say that a client passed away this weekend. Though my stories with her center around exercise, that in no way encompasses the relationship that we had.
I see some clients up to 3 times a week for YEARS. That’s 3 hours a week, every week, through thick and thin. I see these people more than I see anyone outside of my home. Even if I only see clients once a month, I still form an intense bond with them. They get the most unadulterated attention from me of anyone I know. We build a relationship together. They trust me to take care of them- a trust that I hold to the highest standard. I pull every ounce of expertise that I have to give them the best experience possible.
Fitness specialist. Wellness expert. Health Manager. Coach. Personal Trainer. The titles eventually blur together. None of them will ever describe what I experience in our gym. None of them will reach the depths of the impact you, dear client, will have on my heart.
