Awhile back my dad hired a trainer at a gym in Park City. I didn’t know why he drove 100 miles to work out—until I starting tagging along. We first met Brian Frost (aka “Frosty”) at the Park City Masters program. My dad wanted to get in shape for skiing, and Frosty was the man to do it. My dad walks away from every workout in such pain, that he begged me to come and take some of the focus of Frosty’s wrath off him. Frosty’s workouts are like…shall we say…medieval torture chambers. He likes to work with a lot of the toys—swiss balls, balance boards, ropes, chains, rocks, whatever. Frosty isn’t always nice, especially since we never really pay attention when he demos an exercise (Actually, I really just don’t pay attention because I’m light headed and breathing rapidly from the previous exercise). Despite our patheticness, he hasn’t given up on my dad and me yet. We still meet twice a week at the Newpark Rec Center for whatever torture device Frosty decides to humiliate us that day.
**So if you want to date Jenny, you have to survive a workout with Frosty. No grace required.
