Personal Trainer, Party Pants, and a Poem

So, I'm getting certified as a personal trainer. What? No really, I'm getting certified as a personal trainer. If you haven't talked to me in the past two months then you probably think this is way out of left field. But its not, its out of the field that is right in front of me: my future (wow...)

 For years I've been into working out and staying healthy. but recently I've gotten extra passionate about fitness, health, and sanity. I've been inspired by a class I take at the gym called Body Pump, (and yes, I do imagine ripping my wife beater down the middle and yelling BODY PUUUMP!!! everytime I say that) as well as Amanda Russell who is a mega fitness/health guru. And of course, myself. I've been inspired by myself and my ability to be an active participant in my own life. AND SO CAN YOU!

So anyway, I have to study a whole bunch of science (like, a lot of science) and then take a test and then hopefully be certified to tell people how to be active participants in their own lives. Participants....parti-pants...PARTY PANTS! I'm going to help people put their party pants on. Taking them off, however, is their own problem.

I arrived at this goal after some kickass advice my wonderful poetry professor/mentor/friend. He said,  "follow your appetites." Right now I am super passionate about fitness and healthy, so I'm following that by getting certified as a personal trainer. It'll probably be a side gig, but who knows where that leads? I won't know until I get those party pants on and give it a boogie. 

But don't worry, I'm not going all jock on y'all. Here's one of my poems to prove it. Its about my mom, who flew to Uruguay today, and I miss her already.

Finally, a Love Poem

I cook with too much garlic,

the way my mother does.

The raw aroma spreads

over everything she touches.

I search for home

between the knife

and cutting board,

cut the sturdy cloves

in half, rub the juice

into my fingertips,

let it soak

into my skin. 

When I brush a loose hair

from my face, I can smell

my mother,  remember

crawling through cotton

bed sheets, finding her

warm body, and laying my head

by her hands as she slept.