"What are you listening to?" she asked me, as she yanked my cheap, wrap-around headphones off the back of my neck and put her ear to them. She's cute, about 25, and not in the superhuman shape you'd expect from someone in her line of work. Her figure is quite average, actually. She wears 80s headbands and countryside doo-rags, which would come off as depressingly hipster if she wasn't half-Greek. Because of her heritage she can pull it off, and now it just makes her looks hip, sans stir.
I'd never had a personal trainer before. Whether through sheer confidence in my limited knowledge of nutrition and exercise, or uncertainty in the same, I never got around to being ok with the idea of someone intently watching me work out. It's actually kinda creepy.