Super Muscle Chick

My trainer now knows exactly when he will be written about.  It has become a thing during my work outs, to let him know that whatever happened will turn into a blog.  In fact, he knows the moments so well, that sometimes even he calls it (‘This is going to be a blog, isn’t it’ shaking his head).  This is a story about one of those times.

There have been many times when I’m working out, that I am pulling on weights with all my might, and my trainer will say something like, ‘Damn, girl, look at those arms!  You’re so strong.  Seriously, look at those muscles poppin’!  Obviously I don’t look.  All I see is fat bat wings, anyways.  But sometimes, on rare occasion, I finally see what he sees.

This is an actual text conversation between my trainer, and myself:

Me: ‘I was putting my hair up in a bun, and I looked at my arms and I was like… (insert muscle arm emoji and wide eyes emoji)’

Him:  ‘It’s a bird.  It’s a plane.  It’s Super Muscle Chick!!’

Me: ‘Ha, ok.. but yeah, I just wasn’t expecting to see that’

Him: ‘I’ve been trying to show you that for a month’

Me: ‘I don’t take compliments very well.  Clearly.’

Him: ‘Alright, so now we’re on the same page.  You’re a diesel muscle bound woman who eats toddlers around for breakfast’

Me: ‘Well I carry them around while eating my breakfast, so…’

Him: ‘Just as good’

Me: ‘Thanks for putting up with me.  You know I appreciate it.’ (Remember how I said I apologize and tell him how much I love him, after threatening his life? Yup.)

Him: ‘You’re welcome.  Some idiot has to do it.  Let that idiot be me.’

If you really dig deep, you can feel the love we have for each other.  I know it’s mutual.  I mean, if he didn’t love me, he wouldn’t be able to put up with my complete shit attitude at the gym, multiple times a week.

Last week, as we were finishing up ‘Lower Body Murder Day’, we were headed back to the front of the gym, and we were fighting.  Naturally.  It’s really what we do best, next to making each other laugh at the dumbest crap.  Anyways, here we are, walking to the front desk where new gym members are strolling in, and I’m fighting with my trainer.  Another trainer (who knows us, well) walked up and said, ‘Do you guys ever stop fighting?’  And we laughed, and laughed, and laughed…. ok, I laughed.  Then he said something to prove that I am really the problem.

Today, as Murder Day ended, I plopped my ass on a chair at my trainers desk, to continue bothering him, naturally.  All of a sudden, with a very serious looking face, he says ‘Hey, so we’re having a pull up contest, and I think you’re a great competitor….’ His voiced trailed off, and a shit eating grin appeared across his face.  Because, he’s an asshole.  (If you aren’t understanding his funny funny ha ha, go read ‘Wait, You’re Stronger Now.  Try This.’)  I immediately, and openly, picked up my phone and made a note about the conversation, so I could blog about it later on.

In other news, I feel like I need a grand reveal for this guy.  He deserves it, at this point.

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