November 22, 2025, 5:10 pm | Read time: 9 minutes

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Yes, I tried it too. After the air fryer phase, I thought it was time to bring some fresh air into my daily routine–athletically. For the first time in my life, I dared to train with a personal trainer.

To be precise, I spent an entire hour trying exercises and equipment I would never normally use. Admittedly, I have regularly worked out at the gym for a long time, but I am more of a fan of bodyweight exercises–exercises that rely solely on your own body.

From the Dance Hall to the Gym

For ten years, dancing was my competitive sport. Body tension, endurance, balance–everything I need in training today started there. After my training, I wanted to integrate what I knew from dance training into my daily life. So I combined familiar movements like squats, planks, and push-ups with classic gym exercises.

What I like to do: adductor and abductor machines for the inner and outer thighs, the leg press for thigh strength, squats with kettlebell for glutes and core. To warm up, I get on the stairmaster–where I do kickbacks to specifically activate the gluteal muscles. Then follows my familiar bodyweight training on the mat: sit-ups, planks, push-ups.

The advantage of such bodyweight exercises: They promote stability, train deeper muscles, and improve body awareness–something I took from the dance hall. But: You can also easily fool yourself. And that’s exactly where a personal trainer comes into play.

Also interesting: “Discipline, Pain, Applause! My Childhood as a Dancer on the World’s Largest Theater Stage”

Out of the Comfort Zone–Into the Crunch Machine

After a short warm-up phase, we got straight to the point. The trainer led me to the crunch machine–a device that trains the straight abdominal muscles. You sit upright, the pad is at chest height, and with a controlled forward and backward movement, you strengthen the entire core. Sounds simple, but it’s not.

The first problem became apparent during setup: my height. At 5 feet 2 inches, I fit on the seat, but there was a noticeable gap between my chest and the pad. Ideally, the pad should be snug against the upper body to help perform the movement correctly–for me, that was hardly possible. The trainer frowned. “Well, I have many small clients,” he said, “but you’re the smallest I’ve ever had.”

I laughed nervously as he set the weight to 33 pounds. The first repetitions went well–until he silently increased the weight:

“What are you doing?” I asked, panting.
“Making the weight heavier.”
“But why?!”
“So you push yourself.”
“I am pushing myself!”

Some heads in the room turned in our direction–apparently, our little power struggle was not going unnoticed. I pressed my lips together to avoid making another comment and demonstratively continued. In my head, of course, I was having an argument that I clearly won. He glanced at me, raised an eyebrow, and dryly said I should save my energy for the workout. I pretended not to hear him–and stubbornly continued. Luckily, he could take a joke, or I would have been kicked out of the gym by the second set.

After ten repetitions, it was over. My ego and my abs spoke up simultaneously. He patiently explained that machines engage entirely different muscle groups than bodyweight training–and I had simply become too accustomed to my favored rhythm.

The Cable Machine–or My New Arch-Enemy

Next came the cable machine. Just looking at this tall, silver-glossy construction with the side weight blocks and the long cable in the middle made me feel a slight panic. The cable machine is usually central in the gym–a massive frame with pulleys, handles, and cables, where everyone seems to pull, push, or stretch through various exercises. I had always discreetly sneaked past it.

“Cable kickbacks,” said the trainer–an exercise for glutes and hamstrings. He attached a loop to my ankle, set the weight, and pointed to the correct position: hands lightly on the frame, upper body stable, back straight. Then I was to slowly extend the leg backward and upward until I felt the tension in the glutes–and just as controlled, bring it back. Sounds easy, but it burns from the third repetition.

I struggled to maintain posture while he kept calling out to me: “Back straight, tighten your abs!” “They are tight!” I shot back. He grinned as if he had been waiting for that line.

After 73 repetitions (yes, I counted), I knew running the next day would not be an option. The cable machine had officially won–for now.

Cable Tower Crunches–and the Moment I Almost Thought of Giving Up

Just when I thought the worst was over, the trainer simply changed the grip on the cable machine–and I knew: This was going to hurt. He attached the thick, braided rope above my head and knelt in front of it to demonstrate the exercise to me.

With calm, focused movement, he rolled his upper body forward, pulled the rope down in a controlled manner, and explained which muscle groups were engaged–primarily the straight and lower abdominal muscles, but also the hip flexor, which provides stability. He emphasized that I should only perform the movement with weight once it was clean and stable. Only when my posture was correct and the movement precise did the actual training session begin for him–a clear indication of how much he valued technique and safety over speed.

So I knelt in front of the tower, grabbed the rope, pulled it down with both hands, and slowly rolled my upper body in–as if bowing toward the floor. The first repetitions went surprisingly well, but after ten, I felt my abs start to burn.

After twenty repetitions, my arms were shaking, sweat was running down my forehead, but my ambition was awakened. The trainer stood calmly behind me, ensuring every movement remained precise. I felt the tension run through my entire body and my breath quicken as I pushed through the last repetitions. When I finally looked up, completely out of breath, I saw him nodding in satisfaction. At that moment, exhaustion mixed with pride–and a small, almost addictive feeling of having pushed my limits a bit further.

Face Pulls–Tension Until the Last Pull

To finish, face pulls were on the agenda–an exercise that strengthens shoulders, upper back, and posture. You pull the rope toward you at head height, keep your elbows up, and tighten your abs to maintain balance. The movement often looks elegant and controlled in videos–in reality, it feels like a coordination puzzle of strength, posture, and breathing.

The trainer stood in front of me, observing every movement. As soon as I started the first set, he corrected my arms. I raised them higher–obviously too high, because the next moment came the next remark. So I lowered them again, a bit too much this time. In my head, I commented on each correction defiantly while trying to control posture, tension, and breathing simultaneously.

I implemented each of his instructions, but never without inner resistance–and probably with visible eye-rolling. At some point, he tersely commented that I shouldn’t look like that. Of course, that didn’t help. I rolled my eyes again, this time demonstratively, and stubbornly tightened my abs even more.

Despite the constant corrections, the movement became more precise with each repetition. The shoulders burned, the back tensed, every muscle worked. I was tired and sweaty and still wanted to persevere. This constant readjustment, my inner resistance, and the focus on doing everything right made the training more intense than I had expected. It wasn’t a game of control–rather a learning process where I realized how much you can get out of clean technique.

When Humor Is the Best Training Strategy

At the end of the hour, as I put my water bottle in my bag, exhausted but satisfied, the trainer said with a smile that I was probably one of his most annoying clients. Not because I resisted or slacked off–but because I had a comment ready for every exercise. A bit of sarcasm here, a quip there. That was probably my way of dealing with the loss of control.

But exactly that, he said, made such sessions lively. And he was right: My humor was my lifeline. It helped me not take myself too seriously–and still give it my all.

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Why a Personal Trainer Is Not a Luxury

I admit it: I was skeptical. But after this hour, I understood why so many swear by personal training. It’s more motivating, you want to prove yourself–and you really follow through with the training. No dodging, no “I’ll continue tomorrow.”

Especially with the cable machine, I realized why such equipment is so effective in training. The cable never stays completely stable–so many small muscles have to work to balance the movement. This trains not only strength but also coordination and body control. A personal trainer ensures that every movement is executed cleanly and that you use the instability correctly instead of overloading yourself.

But a trainer also notices when you’re holding yourself back. He corrects, challenges, and forces you to bring out the best in yourself. Of course, a trainer is not a cheap investment–but one that pays off. Those who treat themselves to this guidance once a week do something long-term for posture, technique, and body awareness–things that are hard to measure in numbers but are noticeable.

And although I probably made it into his top 3 most annoying clients with my comments, I have to admit: That was exactly the point. Because in this hour, I challenged myself not only physically but also mentally. And that’s a feeling that stays.

My Conclusion: Loss of Control with a Learning Effect

An hour with a personal trainer can feel like a small reality check. You realize how much you spare yourself when training alone–and how much potential is actually still there. I felt muscles I didn’t know existed. My ego was tested, my posture corrected multiple times. But I also learned something: Letting go of control can be liberating–especially when you laugh in the process. Would I do it again? Probably yes. But only after the muscle soreness is gone.