It wasn’t easy walking into my art studio today. My legs felt like noodles and threatened to buckle with each step. All thanks to a sadistic, unforgiving man.

His name is Cody, and he’s my personal trainer.

What’s ironic is that I actually pay this guy, twice a week, to put me through the paces. Squats, burpees, push-ups, bench press, curls, and lots of other torturous exercises.

Cody and I talk about diet, the physiology of exercise, and how to work around injuries. Cody is well educated in these things, and keeps me on track with my fitness goals.

I used to work out by myself, but wasn’t happy with my progress. Old martial arts injuries and unfamiliarity with proper form were holding me back.

My wife had been working with Cody, and one day he reached out to me. I decided to invest in myself and hire him.