Well, today (posted late! Last weekend….) I turn(ed) 25.



Fine…. I turn 35.  I don’t know why that’s so damn hard for me to write.  Age never bothered me before, and you’d think that since I’m actually taking care of myself, and I’m healthy, that I should be proud of that number.  Meh… anyways, it’s (was) my birthday.

Last week, I asked Franz if he wanted to throw in a free training session for me, for my birthday.  While politely declining, he reminded me that for his birthday, I gave him a pack of gum.  In turn, I politely reminded him, that it was accompanied by a stellar birthday card about how we were celebrating the day that he came out of his moms lady bits.  Sometimes, you just gotta traumatize someone.

As I get older, there isn’t much I want for my birthday, although to be honest, the most badass birthday gift is coming today… new kitchen cabinets. WOOP! WOOP!  However, it’s always fun to see what people will come up with when they buy you shit.  Take Christmas, for example.  Kindly remind yourselves of the ‘LivePD’ shirt, weight lifting gloves, and yoga short shorts, that I received.  Want to know one of the best gifts I got lately?  (It was a holiday gift from my besticle, but it came closer to my birthday, so let’s just say it was a bday gift).  A five pound bag of CarbQuick.  UHHHH-MAZING.  Can you smell the low carb biscuits and pancakes, from there??

I do however, think that this year, I need to get creative and design some gifts for myself. For example, I would like a pad of paper that I can create my recipes on, instead of walking around with my notebook.  Each page would already be printed and ready with a space to write the kind of food I’m making, the ingredients, and the nutrition facts, so I can write them down, add them up, and figure out my serving size for each meal.  Oh…. god… they’d be so pretty…. I can see them now!

Also, I’d like to take the request of a FGW shirt, seriously.  Wouldn’t it be awesome to add a FGW shirt to my collection of gym shirts?  Like, a racerback tank top that has something like ‘#FGW’ on the front…. or like one fan said, ‘What Would Fat Girl Wunning Do?’.  Then the back can be completely covered in all the swears and dumb shit I say.  I’d wear that loud, and proud!!

Now that my mind is racing with all of these wonderfully amazing ideas (for myself), I will get back to waiting for cabinets, and trying to pretend that I’m not actually 35.



I Thought You’d Never Ask

On numerous occasions (FINE! Every time..) at the end of training sessions, I am so exhausted by the end, that I dramatically collapse on the VERY CLEAN AND OBVIOUSLY VERY COMFORTABLE floor of the gym.  Franz hates this.  First of all, I think (I know) it embarrasses him.  I just literally spaghetti legs straight to the floor… I guess it could be somewhat embarrassing for a trainer, but whatever.  Secondly, he’s grossed out that I have no problem laying on the floor, and normally, I would probably be grossed out too.  I mean, let’s be honest, they can clean that place all they want (and to their credit, they do keep it clean!), but it’s still a gym.  Dirty sneakers, sweat, spit… it’s inevitable that it’s everywhere, and on everything.  Gyms are gross.

Anyways, Franz is so used to seeing me collapse into a pile of death, that he doesn’t even say anything any more.  Instead, he let’s me lay there for a few minutes, heaving… usually mumbling some inaudible words, and then typically closing my eyes and wishing I was in pajamas.  At the end of my pity party, Franz will normally chivalrously extend his hand to me, and seamlessly pull me up to my feet, as if I am a rag doll.

So let me set the scene for you from last weeks ‘Lower Body Murder Day’.  Franz had basically made me do 2,762,046 squats, and 9,613,763 dead lifts.  No, I’m not exagerating.  My body was sore and weak, and my legs were jelly.  My mouth, however…. worked perfectly fine (between the heaving breaths).  As we walked over to ‘the green’, to where the death sled was sitting, I opened my unfiltered dumb mouth, and said, ‘Ugh!! Can’t you think of ANYTHING else for me to do?!  All you ever have me do are squats and pushing the fucking sled!! What do I pay you for?!’

Now, let me be clear.  I know what I pay him for.  He knows that I’m kidding when I say that shit.  I throw that specific comment out there on the regular, because I know how dumb he thinks I am when I say it, and it makes me laugh, inside.  Also, don’t you worry, because in turn, Franz has plenty of things he says that ‘get back at me’, for what I say to him.  It’s a very healthy, dysfunctional relationship.

Anyways, I mention my kind words of wisdom, and he responds by pulling a TRX rope from it’s home on the wall, tying it around the sled, and says ‘Of course I can think of new things for you to do!!  Today, you’re going to pull the sled… backwards.  And yes, I’ll be standing on it’.

I literally almost died on the spot.  I mean, part of me was like, ok, going backwards won’t be that bad.  I can do this.  My legs are strong, and I can handle pushing this man-beast while he takes a free ride across the gym.  As I reluctantly get into position to pull, my body reminds me just how weak I am at the moment.  I am so tired, and now I have to pull this meat head and a steel machine, down ‘the green’ and back again.

I start to pull on the handles at the end of the rope, and get some momentum.  By momentum, I mean, we were moving- but very, very slowly.  As I pulled backwards, my toes jammed into the front of my sneakers, my legs shook, my breath was severely shortened, and I complained- The. Whole. Time.

I got to the end of ‘the green’, and bent over, hands on knees, trying desperately to catch my breath.  For once in Franz’s life, he took my complaining seriously, and told me I didn’t have to pull the sled back, that this time, I could just push it.  Awe… so sweet. I can just push it now…’.

Again, I get myself into position, take a deep breath, give myself a pep talk, and start to push.  I’ll fast forward to when I got to the other end of the gym, and Franz hopped off of his throne atop the sled, and I collapsed to the floor.  Like usual, he allowed me to lay there for a moment, and suffer.  Then, Franz reaches his hand down towards me, and says so sweetly, ‘Would you take my hand….in training’

Then, without skipping a beat, as he lifted me from my death bed, he followed up his own proposal with, ‘I thought you’d never ask’.

I’ve never been more in… love?


If anyone knows me, or have read some of these blog entries, then they would know that I suffer from ADD.  I am (almost…good lord) 35, and it has taken me my whole life to find my own ways of doing things: To stay organized, to stay on task, to stay motivated, to stick with something.  In a previous post, I mentioned what it’s like to have ADD, in my world.  You can read about it here, Snow Days, ADD, and Anxiety.

This year, I stuck to it, for the most part.  I haven’t given up on training, or trying to be active.  I stuck to my guns, and didn’t eat pasta or rice AT ALL.  I gave up drinking all alcohol (except for the few tiny sips here and there to help taste test new craft brews…oh how I miss beer!).  Sure, I have my moments where I give into myself a little.  We don’t need to call it cheating, or slipping up, because in reality- this is life!! Shit happens!!  Birthdays, holidays, celebrations of all kinds… days when you just need something to make you feel better… we all have those.  You’re not cheating.  You’re living.  So, in 365 days, I have definitely allowed myself to ‘live’, but I have also given myself the opportunity to succeed, in ways I never thought I could.

Now, all of this is tacky, sentimental crap, is building up to something that seems so dumb, but to me: This. Is. Success.

For 365 days, for one whole year, I have tracked my food in the app “My Fitness Pal”.  Everything I eat.  Every recipe I ever came up with (BTW: If I post a recipe on here, you can search for it under the brand name “Allys Own” on MFP).  Every ounce of chicken I weighed, or grape I counted out, was tracked.  I had my times where it would have been too much to track, like I said before, it’s not a slip up.  I was aware that maybe I wasn’t doing the best eating, or I was out to a restaurant and it was easier to just track a well-educated rounded number of calories, vs. actual food items; But, this wasn’t habit.  Habit was entering food as I ate it.  Searching for nutrition facts online.  Creating recipes, and adding them into the app.  That was habit.

Secretly, deep down, I couldn’t wait for the moment the app told me that I had tracked for 365 days.  I literally wanted balloons to fly across the screen….but they didn’t.  I just got a quick update on my app that said, ‘you’ve tracked for 365 days’.  Well, that was disappointing- but none the less… I DID IT!!!  ADD be damned!!!! I stuck to something!

They say it takes 21 days to create a new habit.  I would like to adjust that for myself.  I’m pretty sure that maybe at the three month mark is when things become second nature, for me.  So, here’s to 365 more days of tracking.  Here’s to 365 more days of working hard for a better me.  Here’s to 365 more days of living my life, and letting funny shit happen, so I can keep writing about it.

Cheers! WUN!image1

…and no, I don’t want to be friends with you on MFP.  Find me somewhere else.  The only person who has access to seeing this crap is my nutritionist!! 😉


Franz always wants me to pay attention to what he says, and learn, so that ‘You can do this on your own, and you don’t always need me’.  Yeah ok, Franz.  As if I’d push myself half as hard as you push me.  As if I’d finish a set with as much determination, as I do with you.  I wouldn’t.

I have, however, tried to pay more attention to the things we do, the names of the exercises, and why they are good for my body.  At least I am trying to understand what each lift of a kettlebell, squat, pull-up, or sled push is doing for me.

The other day, on Upper Body Murder Day, Franz walks over to a resistance band that is tied to a steel pole.  He says, ‘Ok, this is new.  You’re going to do rows, like you normally do, except this time, you’re doing them fast.  Speed Rows.’  He says this while demonstrating what they should look like.

‘What’s the point?  What do speed rows do for me, besides make me look stupid while doing them?’ I ask. (Yes, I had to add the last part. It IS me, we’re talking about!)

‘You’ll see when you start doing them’, he replied.  Normally he would answer my question with a well thought out, thorough response as to what this work out is doing to my body, where I should feel the strain in my muscle, and just how many parts of my body I am working, while doing it.  Not this time, though. Not when I actually asked for an explanation.

I grab ahold of the band, and step back into position. Before I pull, Franz says, ‘Don’t let the band pull you back in’.  He was probably having flashbacks of my feet flailing about while trying to do pull-ups, using the same kind of resistance band.  Anyways, I start to pull the band in row formation, rapidly back toward my body.  It was definitely harder than it looked, and I definitely felt it, in my arms.  My core was feeling it too, because I was unknowingly keeping myself super tight to ‘engage my muscles’ (as Franz would say, usually while smacking my ‘abs’ to make sure they were tight).

I ask again, ‘So what is the point of doing it really fast?’

‘Because… it’s awesome.’ Franz replied.  Oh…. ok then.

So, the next time I am looking for a new work out routine, that I most certainly won’t do by myself at the gym, I’ll just look around for anything that looks ‘awesome’ to do.  Cool.


Size Matters

Get your damn minds out of the gutter….

Some poeple can remember what they weighed, or what size clothing they wore WAY back when they were in High School, or even Middle School.  My best friend and I talk about this a lot.  She can remember what she weighed at all sorts of times in her life.  When we talk about it, it always makes me really think, because I really can’t remember things like that.  Personally, I think I blocked those numbers out of my head.

The only things I really remember are certain shopping trips to the good old Natick Mall. Headed to popular clothing stores, and hoping and praying they would have my size on the rack, so I could shop with my friends.

At one point in time, they did.  That was back when I wore a size 9.  I don’t know why, but I remember this number; Like, it’s engraved in my brain.  Size Nine.  This was back in my freshman and sophomore years of High School.  I even remember this cute little blue skirt that I had, that I was so happy to be able to wear.  It was light blue, and short, and had a cute little slit on the right thigh, and had a zipper back.  This was also the same skirt that my teacher told my parents I couldn’t wear, because it was distracting, so I would hide it in my backpack to change into, when I got to school.  NO ONE can stop a wanna be fashionista.  Not even a Spanish teacher.

Sorry, I am teetering off the mountain called ‘THE SUBJECT OF THIS BLOG’.  My apologies.  Anyways, size 9.  As health issues arose, and my body started showing it’s challenges, my size 9 became a thing of the not so distant past.  Numbers got bigger, and I didn’t remember any of the sizes of my clothing.  Like, if you asked me what size I was in senior year of High School, I wouldn’t be able to tell you.  However, I would be able to say that it SUCKED finding clothing.  Nothing fit.  Nothing cute, anyways.  Shopping trips with friends were complete inner torture.

Part of being Plus Sized means finding the right cut, and fit for clothing, and stores that sell them.  It took me most of my plus sized adult life to find Torrid.  Torrid is a store that services curvy girls sizes 10-?? (I forget).  All I know is, I spent all of my money there.  I had more clothing than I can explain.  I created a fashion style with their clothing.  In few words: I was addicted.

As I started to lose weight, I had to sell all of my clothing.  All of my pretty, well cared for, loved, beautiful, expensive clothing.  I also had to create a whole new wardrobe and learn to dress a whole new body.  Still trying.

Today, I had to go and buy nice black pants, for an event, because since I had to sell all of my clothing… I have nothing when I need it.

I’m in Express, and I try on some cute black skinny pants, and like usual, my awkward body makes clothing shopping challenging, and the fabric is swimming around my knees and ankles.  The cute little sales lad says, ‘What size are those?’

‘8’, I reply.  (STOP.  Right here… can you believe that??  I can’t)

‘Do you have some room in the waist?’ he says.

I proceed to stick my fingers into the waistband and pull the pants away from my body, just like my Nana used to do when we would do back to school shopping at Marshall’s.  Sure as shit, there’s space between me and the fabric.

‘Uhh… a little?’ I answer.

‘You should try a size 6’, he says (And I actually waited for him to snicker, but he didn’t.  He was serious.)

‘Listen…. if I am a size 6, then we are going gambling.  Cows are jumping over the moon, and pigs are actually flying…’ I reply, in true Ally style.

He looks at me like I have 10 heads, laughs a little to be polite, and walks out of the dressing room to retrieve the pants that surely won’t fit me.

When he returns, I take them into the dressing room (kind of dreading taking off my boots and jeans AGAIN), and I slide them on.  So far so good… but come on… they won’t button, will they?  Yes.  Yes they did.

Size 6.  A new number to engrave in my brain.  The shock hasn’t really worn off…. and even when I modeled them when I got home, it was a shock all over again.  Size 6.

Truly, the size doesn’t matter.  Seriously.  It’s how I feel about the clothing.  I never looked at the sizes in my plus size clothing and got sad thinking about what I wore… I was so happy in my clothes.  It’s just moments like today, when I will look back and remember how I felt.  Just like the blue size 9 skirt from freshman year, these pants will remind me of this feeling, forever.


I still think about that skirt….

Face Plant

Franz loves to laugh at me.  He loves to pretend that he’s tough, and unbreakable, but when he laughs at me, I FUCKING LOVE IT.

I have been told not to laugh.  I have been told to pay attention.  I have been told not to fool around.  Sometimes… these things just find me. Sometimes, I don’t actually mean it, but I do something that sets Franz off into laughter, which ultimately makes me laugh.  You can compare this to laughing in the middle of class, and not being able to stop because your friend laughs when you stop, and vice versa.  Teachers don’t like that; Trust me.

So here I am on upper body murder day.  In front of me, laying on the floor are two pads.  They are about 2″ thick, each, so 4″ of padding.  My hands are on either side of them, and I am being yelled at to do push ups.  I do a set of ten, touching my chest to the pad.  Slightly dying.  Another set of ten, and I am ready for this to be done.  Like usual, Franz knows when to push me to my complete end… and he removes a pad.  So, if you’re following along, I now have a pad in front of me that is about 2” from the ground.  Franz tells me to do 10 more push ups, and make sure I touch the (now lower) pad, with my chest.  I am already weak and tired, and I know this is going to be rough.  I start, and I am on number 7, which is usually my breaking point.  I try for one more, and as I go down towards the ground, I lose all strength, and my face smashes into pad.


Franz loses it.  He had been crouching in front of me, watching to make sure that my chest was hitting the pad, and that I wasn’t ‘cheating’, so when my face squished into the pad, Franz lost his balance, sat on the floor, and just laughed at me.  At first I was kind of in shock, and it took a minute for me to realize that I just did a face plant.  Then I started laughing.  The two of us, on the green, laughing like complete morons.

And of course, in true Franz style, he snapped out of it real quick, and said, ‘ok finish!!’.

And I did.

Gym Shirt Debut

It’s almost a month past Christmas, which is when I received some serious GEMS as gifts.  One of these gems, if you recall, happened to be a LivePD shirt. (For a reminder, check it out here: FGW: You Shouldn’t Have).

It’s upper body murder day, and I am ready to go.  I walked into the gym, completely ready for whatever Franz has to throw at me.  I whipped off my jacket, and proudly stood there, wearing my super sexy, super classy, super awesome LIVEPD T-SHIRT!  Franz just rolled his eyes at me, even though I know that he doesn’t have a clue what the show is all about. The youngins at the front desk just looked at me like I was a crazy person (the same way they look at me, every day).  This is my favorite part of wearing dumb shirts to the gym… the looks.  If I can get some reaction out of someone, then I am all about it.  I bet you anything, that deep down, behind those ‘wtf’ faces, people are thinking, ‘thats awesome!’.  I mean, at least, I hope so!

On another note: let me explain to you about who sits at the desk.

  1. We have another trainer, who, at one point, I mentioned to Franz that he was kinda cute.  Franz takes this kind of information and proceeds to dig for even more information like, ‘what about him is cute’, ‘is that your type’, ‘you are robbing a cradle…hes 22’.  Ok, ok.  Thanks Franz.  First of all, I feel bad for the kid- he looks like he’s at least 30.  Second, I’m not looking for a date… I was just saying that without my old lady spectacles on, he looked cute, from afar.  Done.
  2. We have a young man who I have had one conversation with.  It was a day when Franz introduced us, and said, ‘Oh, you actually both went to the same high school!’.  Franz is very proud of himself when he remembers random facts about me.  What followed next was Franz telling this young whippersnapper that I graduated WAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY before him, so he wouldn’t have known me.  Again, thank you Franz.  I get it.  I’m old.
  3. There’s another youngin who sits at the front desk, but I haven’t spoken to him.  You can imagine that it may be awkward, given my past experiences with Franz introducing me to people.  Instead, Franz let me know that this young child could be my young child, because he’s 17.  Slow clap for Franz, everyone.  He made another old age related joke.
  4. Last, but not least (and actually, not last…there are more), we have the boy that Franz introduced me to by saying (and I solidly quote), ‘Hey!  You guys both celebrated Chanukah at the same time!!’  I’m going to let that sink in for a moment.  First of all, Franz remembered I’m Jewish.  Yay.  Apparently that shall link me to fellow Jews, always and forever.  Better than that… did you know we celebrated Chanukah AT THE SAME TIME?? As if there was another time to celebrate….

I’m 99% sure that there will be more stories of awkward introductions and conversations, later.  Keep those purdy little eyes peeled!


Please note: As this blog posts, I am gearing up for a night on the couch, under a blanket, watching LivePD on A&E.  This couldn’t be a more fitting time for this to be published.

I am really hoping to expand my hilarious gym shirts, this year.  Any suggestions?

BTW- share this blog! Let’s see how far we can go with it. Really, I just want to beat all my records and see if we can beat last years numbers!! Share share share!!