Ask Babe: Training Your Trainer

Dear Babe,

Last week I decided to wear my yoga shorts (which are super tight) to boxing. During my workout I noticed my trainer giving me the “up-down.” Afterwards, he made a joke about how I, “shouldn’t be wearing those with a boyfriend or husband at home,” while smiling. I’m flattered, but I’m also 17 and he’s probably like 40. I was like, “Husband? How old do I look?” and I told him that I’m only 17. He seemed super shocked but kept making jokes about it, claiming that I seem way older. Anyway, I’m not going to quit boxing but how do I make this less awkward the next time I see him?




Girl On The Brink,

I wish Tracy Anderson could clone herself and train all of us, but she can’t. The sad and real truth is that most trainers are dickhead assholes.

If I had a dollar for every time a trainer, or yoga instructor, or tennis coach, or in-flight massage therapist, or dad tried to hit on me, I’d have way more Birkins. Some guys think that just because they sweat for a living, means that they walk on hotter ground than all the rest of us. It’s not cute, and it never will be. I’ll usually allow a trainer one loser comment (because I figure everyone can have an involuntary creepy moment now and then). But if this perv’s pervy attitude persists, I’d give him a brisk, yet meaningful, education in not being a douchebag. Here are a few of my favorite lines you can use upon finding yourself in this position again:

“Thanks for today’s session. Nice hair plugs.”

“Is boxing a bad idea if I’m pregnant?”

“I  feel like I’m gonna fart if I do that stretch. Pass.”

“Oh, you like my Led Zeppelin shirt? It’s my life partner’s. She’s in jail.”

“Are these shorts too tight? I feel like they’re turning you on and that makes me fucking sick.”

If he doesn’t get the picture after you’ve served him some shit like this, then find yourself a new trainer. Life is a never-ending cycle of trainers, gurus and shamans, so just remember: if yours isn’t respecting you, then there are a hundred others who will flaccidly bask in your glory. Harassment is nothing but an annoying distraction in your journey towards non-stick thighs.

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