Note: This blog post is adapted from one I wrote for my trainer, Ja’Warren Hooker, a former Olympic sprinter who enjoys making me sweat.

I don’t love exercise. Growing up, my friends and I referred to it as “The E Word”. I like the way I feel afterwards, but the whole process of being sore and sweaty? Not so much. I have mentioned before my struggle with rheumatoid arthritis, and while this limits my life in ways large and small, without regular movement my disability grows worse. Being strong, improving balance and flexibility, and losing all the weight I put while taking steroids to combat the disease process are vital to my continuing health and well-being. So I suck it up.

You all remember The Mean Lady, right? For two years she tormented me with Pilates twice a week, showing a strange inability to count (100 ab preps for her = 150 ab preps for the rest of the world). As she nears the due date of her firstborn, though, she was forced into what she terms Bed Arrest and had to stop torturing people for money. So I had to find an alternative. I found Ja’Warren by looking for trainers who had experience working with disabled people. I’m not wheelchair bound, but I do have limitations and it’s important that any trainer work within them: my potential for injury is greater than some people.

So is my propensity to complain while working out. I refer to that as Moan Therapy. And I refer to Ja’Warren as Prince Harming.

I’m not a runner and never have been. I was a competitive swimmer in high school. Now, I’m not allowed to do any exercise that doesn’t keep one foot on the ground at all times. No jumping, hopping, running. My wrists, hands, and elbows bear the brunt of my arthritis pain, along with my back and hips, which suffer due to spinal degeneration related to my arthritis. Because I’m so limited, I wondered whether I’d feel a connection with Ja’Warren or if he would understand my perspective and limitations. And most important, I was concerned about whether he would appreciate my quirky sense of humor, laugh at my jokes, and tolerate my giant exuberant dog and Teenage Mutant Son.

Happily, he’s a warm, friendly, and funny guy when he isn’t making me do one more set of something or proving that he, too, doesn’t know how to count properly (note: there is no number eleventy-one). There was also a distinct lack of compassion the day after a workout when every step I take makes me think nasty thoughts about Prince Harming. But if I can’t do something, if something hurts in a bad way, he will adapt the movement. And he doesn’t wait for me to say ouch: he watches me and can see if one side is stiffer than the other or note the wince when I lift the eight ton ball he foists on me.

I think Ja’Warren would love to work me very very hard and show me rapid results. I’d like that, too. But we both understand that’s not an option for me. As I sit here a week after I first met him, I can still feel the work he put me through, but not in a bad way. I’ve started tracking what I eat, per Prince Harming’s direction. I’m pretty sure he won’t agree with me that I eat pretty clean and healthy. He’ll probably want me to change that up, too. But one thing at a time. I’m actually looking forward to week two.

Just don’t tell him that.