I’m Not Actually Athletic

I think I’ve made that very clear.  I mean, I suck on my volleyball team, I pretend to be a runner, I think sports injuries include pulling my groin while walking, and of course, I can’t work out in the weight room by myself in fear of killing myself or someone else.

So basically, I’m not actually athletic, I’m just thinner.  Sometimes, people will get that confused.  Like my trainer for example.  Yes, back to talking about HIM.  During warm up on the treadmill, he thinks it’s necessary to put me on the highest incline possible, at a decent rate of speed.  It’s kind of like speed climbing Mount Everest (I think, I could be wrong though).  Someone might look at me and think, of COURSE she can do that!  No problem!  WRONG.  I was heave-hoeing my way along.  Heavy breathing, sweat dripping, legs burning, and of course I was telling him to ‘get the fuck away from my treadmill before I kill you’ while swatting his hands away.  I’m super pleasant. 🙂 BTW warm up is only five minutes.

Yesterday, while doing my upper body work out with my Trainer, he started to say these absolutely insane things.  I’m not quite sure what he was thinking. He would say things like, ‘I train you like this so that someday you can do it by yourself’, and ‘When you don’t train with me, you should come and do these routines on your own’.  WHAT?!? How does he not know me, by now?  I won’t try to lie to you… my reaction went something like this: I straight up looked at him and said, ‘I will always need a trainer.  I will never be alone.  I can’t be left alone.  You’re insane.’ and I followed it up with, ‘You do know this will become a blog, right?’ This was all happening while I was lifting an Olympic Training Bar (or something like that… honestly, he told me what it was called, and I didn’t listen) into my fucking crotch. He only responded to me by laughing.  I’m pretty sure he was laughing at a combination of my Dumb Workout Face, my complete honesty, and the fact that he knows I write about him.

So yeah, I’m definitely not athletic.  At least I try, though.  I honestly don’t give a fuck if I embarrass myself, or look like a complete asshole.  I’m doing it.  I have come a long way from when I first joined a gym, and was completely embarrassed about being drenched in sweat when I left.  I mean, isn’t that the point?

My how times have changed.

This is what 'Lower Body Murder' day looks like when I'm done.

This is what ‘Lower Body Murder’ day looks like, when I’m done.

Shirts With Sayings

I am all about gym clothes.  I always have been.  There is something to be said about lounging in a pair of yoga pants and a comfy top.  Did you see what I wrote?  Lounging around.

I’m going to take you on a wee journey through my experience buying a shirt, and then some self actualization.  The time frame for this story is prior to my recent weight loss; When I was still squishy, and padded, and could sit on my ass.

So, I’m in need of a new work out shirt.  I have some ideas of the shape that I want (something to hide the fat), and I know that I want it to be sleeveless.   Gotta show off them guns, am I right?!  I head to Old Navy (where you too can buy cheap shit and replace it next month), and walk straight to the work out section.  After perusing the many options, I end up picking a shirt with some dumb saying on it.  You know those shirts.  The ones that say stupid shit like, ‘Gym Hair, Don’t Care’, ‘Rest Later’, ‘Running Late Is My Cardio’.  You get the point.  It was stupid, like those.

I buy the shirt, and bring it home.  Now, fast forward to attempting to wear it.  It was a Monday, and I was getting ready for work.  I am a nanny, so I get the privilege of wearing gym clothes to work every day, so I pull on my yoga pants, and take my new shirt out of the drawer.  I put it on, and look in the mirror, and I think I am a fraud.  No, really.  I think the shirt said something like ‘Work It Out‘.  Now, I work for parents who are ridiculously healthy and athletic.  All I could think was, ‘I am going to walk into their house wearing a shirt that says ‘Work It Out’ in a size XXL, and look like a total fucking moron’.

So, I took the shirt off, and sold it online.  That was the end of it.

still don’t think I could wear a shirt that says anything like that, even though I really do work my ass off.  There IS however, ONE shirt that I found that would be absolutely perfect for me (and my trainer 100% agrees).  #buyitforme #amazonprime

I have actually said these words, many many times.

I have actually said these words, many many times.


In my search for the correct image of the shirt that I want, I came across a few with sayings that were just too ridiculous not to share.

  • I Work Out Because I’m Ugly
  • I Do It For The Pizza
  • Cardio Is Hardio
  • Exercise? I Thought You Said Extra Fries
  • I Work Out Because Punching People Is Frowned Upon (ok, I actually like, and secretly want, this one)

Redemption (Sort Of): The Volleyball Edition

Alrighty folks… we’re back to talking about volleyball, and this one just might surprise you.

For the first time in three seasons, my team (team Block Party in the house!!) might actually, possibly, hopefully, make it to the finals.  I mean, it’s definitely not due to anything that I have done.  Quite the contrary.  We have some serious players on our team.  Like for example, we have one player who just pops the ball into the air like a bullet.  He doesn’t even have to be looking at it.  He turns around, the ball is there, and BOOM! he has it over the net.  We have another player who is the shit at serving.  She seamlessly hits the ball over the net, every single time.  We have another player who just doesn’t give a fuck, and pops out of no where to open palm- slam the ball, sending it flying over the net.  She is also a badass server on our team, and has earned us plenty of pretty, pretty points. (what up Kirsi!)

Now, me on the other hand.. I can’t even look at the ball without it flying in the opposite direction.  Like, 4 times tonight, I hit the ball in a direction that I thought was towards the net, but instead went behind me and out of bounds.  Fuck me.  The ONLY thing I’m slightly good at is serving (and swearing).  I mean, I have to warm up a bit (During games, obviously.  Who actually practices?).  For example; The first ball I served tonight literally didn’t even make it to the first row of players on my own team.   Yup.  Warming up…

But then, the clouds parted and that miraculous light shined down on me (remember that light?? It’s when miracles and magic happen to me on the court).

Set the scene:  It’s game three out of four for the night.  We have won two (how?!), and we are on game point of this game.  Like, if we make a point- we fucking win.  It’s our turn to serve, and who’s in next?  That’s right, yours truly.  I walk out to the court, and hear my brother call behind me, ‘This is it, Ally! Game point! You got this!!’.  I’m honestly not quite sure where his confidence in me is coming from, because I have done everything to prove him otherwise.  Anyways, back to the game.  I’m standing on the back line.  I hold the ball in my hand.  I whack it with my fist, sending it soaring over the net and………… they drop it.

WE WON!  REDEMPTION!!  Fuck yeah!!

I still suck.


Wait, You’re Stronger Now. Try This.

Well, my faithful readers… do I have a good one for you.

Today was ‘Upper Body Murder’ day at the gym.  Before I even walked into the gym I was sweating.  It wasn’t even that hot out, but YOU try telling my body that!  Anyways, I walk into the gym, which, like usual, is a super wonderful humid warm space.  Why the hell don’t they pump the A.C. in a gym?  I really don’t get it.  Honestly, this part has nothing to do with my story, I just felt like letting you know that I work out in a sauna.  Ok, continue on.

So, my trainer and I enter the dungeon…err, the weight room, and we head to a set up with weights you can pull towards you in all sorts of directions, depending on how you set it up.  On the top of this unit there are handles so, those who are physically able, can do pull ups.  Pull ups are just another one of those things that I have never been able to do, and couldn’t ever see myself doing.

Well, like usual, my trainer thinks or assumes that I am much more fit/athletic/able to do things, only based on the fact that I’m now ‘lighter’.  So, he says, ‘Hold on, let me go get something.  You’re gonna try something’.  He walks back over to me, carrying a Plyo box (When I see these boxes, I cry.  Immediately.) and says, ‘Here, step up on this and grab those handles’.

‘Ummmm what?  Wait a fucking second… do you think I’m going to do a pull up???  You’re insane.  I hate you.  You DO know this will become a blog post, right?!?’  is what I said without filter or giving a shit about who was around me… but I stood up on the box, to appease him.  I grabbed the handles, pulled up, and immediately lost all strength in my arms and just ended up hanging there.  Just fucking hanging, off of a metal structure, in the middle of a weight room, in a hot and humid gym, with people watching me.  I looked at myself in the mirror and felt like I was looking at that poor kid in elementary school who couldn’t get across the monkey bars, and just hung there (that’d be me folks!).  That’s when I got down.

I’m not even quite sure WHAT was going through my trainers head, because he didn’t skip a beat, and he got up onto the Plyo Box.   He grabbed the handle bars, and said, ‘No, you’re supposed to do it like this‘, and proceeded to pull himself up.

Well, no shit, asshole.  I know what it’s supposed to look like.  That’s what I tried to do!

He gets down, and asks me to try again. Apparently for shits and giggles, he wants to see me suffer or fail or cry or fall or whatever.

I get back up, grab the bars (he pointed to new handles for me to hold, as if that would help me lift entire hot mess of a body), and pulled up as far as I could.  Quick image- I was basically just HANGING there.  My arms were ever so slightly bent.  Clearly I can’t do this.  I guess I proved my failure to my trainer, because he told me to get down, so I did the opposite and immediately started to swing my entire body in a circle, around the Plyo Box, while hanging from the bars above.  Cirque Du Soleil style.  Wheeee!!

No joke, he thought I was falling, and he started sweating because he was so scared… or was it the fucking humidity in the gym??


This is a Plyo Box.  You can call it the Devil Box too, and we can make it a thing.


Guys, look!!  It’s me!!!


Ok, we all have flaws.  There isn’t one person who is ‘perfect’.  I mean, what is perfect, anyways?  I also think that we can all be our own worst critics.  Am I right? Or is that just  me?  For as long as I can remember, I have looked in the mirror, and seen someone who I thought had pretty eyes, or (on a good day, and after YEARS of hating it) had pretty hair.  I have never looked in the mirror and thought, “You look SO good” or “You’re so pretty!”, despite what people try to tell me that THEY see.  Anyways, the point is, I never looked at myself without seeing all my flaws.  I look in the mirror and I pick apart my face, my neck, the way my shirt fits, how my pants are tight and what the hell am I going to do when I am out to dinner and I can’t breath in them?!  (that’s a real life problem)

I thought as I lost weight, that I would see clearly when I looked into the mirror (I can see clearly now, the fat is gone….).  Instead, I still see the Fatty Ally.  I know in reality I look better, and I see the number on the scale, but to me, I feel like I look as heavy as I was before.  #bodydysmorphia

I currently wear a size jean that I haven’t seen since High School, and I still look at my rolls.  Isn’t that crazy?  65 lbs lighter, and all I see are the same bulging bits of fat, that I did before.  What’s really incredible, is that when OTHER people see my pictures, they are astonished with my accomplishments, and they don’t see my flaws, at all.  At least SOMEONE can see the difference.

Every once in a while, something will pop out and remind me that, ‘yes, you did lose a shit ton of weight, and you ARE different’.  The latest being (are you ready for this?) Crossing.My.Legs.  Like, I cross my legs, and it’s not uncomfortable!!  Only the heavy can appreciate and understand that Non Scale Victory.  How do I explain the next example… When I fold my laundry, I look at my shirts, pants, really anything, and I think, that’s so small!  I have to remind myself that IT FITS ME.

I know that loving who I am comes with time.   Seeing who I am now, will come with time as well.  I know this.  While I wait for that to happen, I will continue on this journey, and work my ass off.

Keep on wunning!


Clearly, I document EVERYTHING, but this was totally worth it.


Because I Don’t Want To Look Dumb

I have always wanted to try yoga. I think I’ve told every body.  Usually, the conversation goes something like this:

Me: ‘Oh, you do yoga? I’ve always wanted to try it’
Them: ‘You should!!’
Me: ‘I don’t know.  I’m really not flexible, and I don’t want to look dumb’
Them: ‘No!!  Go to a beginners class!’

And that, my friends, is what brings me to this entry.

It’s Saturday.  I’m dressed in my work out clothes because, well, I’m always dressed in work out clothes.  I’m out doing errands, and I brought my sneakers so I could go to the gym, before I went home.  Unfortunately, I forgot my socks.  Tragic.  After errands, I go home with the intention of grabbing socks, and heading back out;  But I didn’t.  Would you?  It’s kind of like walking into a vortex when you pass through the front door of your home.  Once you’re in, you’re not getting out.

I knew that I would be super upset with myself if I didn’t work out, and I told myself to go to the gym, but my body just wouldn’t move.  All of a sudden I have a thought.  Does my Smart TV have an app for working out?  On the search I go, and after a few minutes the verdict is?  It sure does!  It even has a yoga app.  So, I download both.

The first I do is put on a regular work out, where I follow this unbelievably fit, gorgeous woman.  Annoying but I keep going.  I followed along as long as I possibly could- heaving and struggling my way through it.  The whole time, I’m listening to the most annoying calm voice of the instructor, and trying my damnedest to find a drop of sweat on Pipsqueak Barbie.  I did about 16 minutes, which doesn’t sound like a lot, but the work out was so fast paced and intense that I started to lose my balance.  Wouldn’t wanna fall when you’re home alone, am I right Life Alert?


This is when Pipsqueak and I took a selfie.  I probably should have told her to smile wider.

When I couldn’t do any more push ups and lunges, I decided to ‘cool down’ with some BEGINNER yoga.   I pop that sucker on, and I make it through a few moves, which is incredible because I am the least flexible human being on the planet.  But… Do you want to know when I quit?  DO YOU?  I quit when my beginner yoga video tried to make me do THIS:


I mean.. WHAT IN THE HELL??  Beginner yoga?  I was hoping that it would be more “child’s pose” and “bridge” and less “balance all of your weight on your poor wrists and hands’.  This was like throwing me straight to the wolves.  So, I quit.

I guess it’s back to the gym I go… tomorrow.



Wanna Go On The Rope Swing?


The only feeling that pulsed through my body, was fear, when he said, “Want to go on the rope swing?”

“Uh…. NO?!  Are you nuts?” is what went through my head.

Setting the scene:  It’s a lovely Sunday morning, and we decide to take kayaks out on a lake that we normally take our boat on.  On the boat, the lake looks pretty medium sized, but down low in the kayak, it was freaking huge.  All I could think, the entire time was, ‘If we keep going to the other side of the lake, I need to be able to row all the way back!’. Have we not all had moments where we thought something similar?

Our first stop was at the rope swing, which last year had a nice long rope, hanging off of a tree to climb to jump off of.  When we rowed our asses all the way there, we noticed a rope was maybe half the length as it was last year, with a long frayed end.  That’s when he said it. “Want to go on the rope swing?”

Why the hell would I go on a rope swing?  Lets talk logistics here.  Me, climbing a tree.  Already a bad decision.  I’d get two steps up, and slip off, and most likely tumble to the shallow, dirty water below.  I really would.  IF, and this is a big IF, I managed to get to the point in the tree where it was safe to jump, my luck would be me grabbing the rope, praying not to die, jumping off, and the rope breaking away from the branch above, also sending me tumbling into the water (When the bow breaks, the cradle will fall, and down will come Ally, tree branch and all).  If it was going to happen to anyone, it would be me.  I’d file that  moment away in the ‘Jesus Ally, You’re So Embarrassing’ folder in my brain.  Just like the time I sat on the back of a bench, even though my dad told me not to, and then the bench fell backwards and caught my leg underneath it, all inside a bowling alley.  That is ALSO in that folder.

Anyways, all of these scenarios of me falling, played vividly through my head as we paddled closer to shore.  The answer was still hell no. I wouldn’t be jumping from a frayed rope.  Thanks.

But hold up.  I’m not 100% free of embarrassing things that have actually happened on this very lake.  Oh, no.  I’ll share a quick story.  It was last summer, and every time we took the boat out, friends would go kneeboarding off the back.  Up on top of the water they would go, having a good old time, until they fell off the board and splashed into the lake.  However, when I would get on, the kneeboard would immediately take a nosedive, when the boat started to move, and I’d be choking on lake water.  But, one time, ONE SINGLE TIME, when it was only the two of us, I went on the board.  I felt so brave.  I’m hanging on the board and rope behind the boat, and it starts to move.  So far so good, although I’m laughing too hard to have any energy to lift my fat thighs out of the water and up onto the board.  Fast forward 3 minutes (ok, fine, 30 fucking seconds) when the board slips out from under me, and I’m left holding onto the rope with my body bouncing across the water.  Did he slow the boat down? No.  Why?  Because he’s an asshole, and he was laughing too hard.  In my head, I couldn’t let go of the rope.  My brain wouldn’t move my hands to release their heavy grip on the only life line I had.  Instead, I held on, bounced across the surface, drank lake water, and… lost the bottoms of my bathing suit.  Ok?  (this moment is already in that file we talked about earlier)

So, anyways, we had a great day kayaking across the lake.  All the fucking way across the lake.  We stopped to lay back and enjoy the sun after 3,000 years of rainy days, and after a while we started to row back.  It was far.  I won’t bore you with details, but let’s just say that I’m pretty sure I’ll have a serious case of Carpal Tunnel, from apparently relying on my wrists to do the work with the oar.  I don’t know what to tell you guys… I’m fucking awkward.

Proof I went on (you’re welcome for the face), and the damage it caused.


Oh, and if you’re wondering what happened to the my bathing suit bottoms?  I actually managed to catch them with my feet, so they weren’t completely lost… Good times.