Boy, You Got Rules!

I may or may not have written about this before, but it’s something that I deal with a lot.

When I first met Franz, we set some ground rules.  His were dumb… like no laughing, no joking, no talking, pay attention, listen, safety first.  All really ridiculous.

My rules, on the other hand, were extremely important, and much needed.  Franz’s rules for training Ally are as follows:

1. Just deal with me.

2. Understand that I WILL complain.  You can’t change that.

3.  No matter what, I am going to talk, and most likely try to make you laugh.

4. If my shirt is lifting up, you must tell me.  If I can’t move my hands, you must fix it for me.

5. If I have mascara running down my face, you must tell me, so I can clean it up and not look like a raccoon.

6. Know that I am going to pick my wedgies, and I don’t care who sees, or if you’re embarrassed by me.

7.  (last but not least) Warn me if I forgot to shave my armpits on upper body day.

 

I mean, seriously?  These aren’t hard, right?  Like, he can handle these.  It’s basically common courtesy and respect for the one you are training.  Right?

The other day he failed on one, and I left looking like I had been punched in the eyes. Listen, I don’t do my make up to go to training.  I work all day, and I have make up on so I don’t look like I’m sleeping, and at the end of the day I go to train.  Obviously when I go, my make up is still on, which just adds to the fabulousness of me.  Well, the other day, I sweat that shit right off.   It pooled under my eyes, and I failed to check my face in the mirror in my car when I left.  I proceeded to head to Target (fucking vortex), and did a whole ton of shopping for shit I didn’t know I needed, and when I left the store I FINALLY looked in the mirror.

There was a goddamn curly haired raccoon looking back at me.

Franz Failed.

 

P.S.  Writing this made me realize what an absolutely refined lady that I really am.

 

 

Recognition

You know when you get some recognition about something you do, or who you are, and you’re surprised anyone noticed?  Like that time I had a friend of mine, who I used to work with, who told me that I made a huge impact on her.  She looked up to me.  WHAT?!    Mind blown.  I mean, you could even equate this to being recognized for doing a great job at work.  Kind of gives you a boost to keep on going, right?

Well, this blog does the same thing for me.  Every comment, ‘like’, or visit to my page, excites me.  Not because you guys are reading about me- but because I know I am going to make someone laugh, or think, or try harder, or dig deeper.

My last blog entry about Franz was read, and reblogged, by a fellow WordPress writer.  Her page www.eattrainlose.com is amazing.  Her descriptions and blogging about her trainers had me laughing so hard!  (How the hell did she convince them to take pictures and allow her to post them, dammit?!  I can’t even use Franz’s real name!)

Anyways, she reblogged my post, and it was because she totally GOT how I felt.  She understood why I need Franz (and all my past trainer victims) in my life.  It’s not because I don’t know how to do what I have learned.  It’s because my trainer is my motivator.  He is my friend (whether he likes it or not).  He’s my personal comedian, and my personal verbal punching bag.  The good thing is, he can handle me, and everything I throw at him.  I heart you Franz.

Check out Brooke on her page.  She may be my long lost twin.

via Yes,You Need A Personal Trainer/Coach.

Proof Is In The Numbers

I’m at the gym on training day.  I’m doing my first exercise of the night- throwing a medicine ball down as hard as I can, then picking it up, throwing it forward, walking to it, and doing it all over again.  I hate this work out.  HATE THIS WORK OUT… but something changed on my last throw.  A woman working out nearby saw the medicine ball and said, ‘WOW!  Twenty pounds?!’.  Franz said, ‘YEP!’.  I sat, confused.  This isn’t normal?  Is that a lot of weight?  Apparently it is…

That’s what’s so funny about working out with Franz.  I am pushed to do things I wouldn’t do on my own, and sometimes, I don’t even realize how physically strong I am.

So, let’s go over a couple of the numbers from this particular work out day.  After my twenty pound medicine ball throwing, I did 10 reps-4 times, of pulling 135 pounds back in what I call the ‘Pull Back’.  Good enough name, right?  Wouldn’t it be lovely if I knew (or listened) to the real names??  In between reps, I did 10 push ups.  Kill me.  Next up, was planking, but I had to plank on one arm, while moving weights from one side of my body to the other, and then switch to the other arm.  In between reps, I pushed a 25 lb weight over my head, one arm at a time.  Fast forward a few more fancy moves, and my very last ‘challenge’ was holding 40 lb kettle bells in each hand (90 lbs!!  (Almost) Exactly what I’ve lost!) , and walking back and forth down the track, for 2 minutes.  Sounds like it might be easy… it’s not.

Numbers don’t lie.  I don’t know where I started… but holy crap I can do a lot more than I thought I could, now.

P.S.- I am writing this and my arms are shaking.  The next two days are gonna be rough.

P.P.S- Today I taught the little boy I nanny how to show his muscles (and grunt while doing it).  Clearly an important skill.

Safe Word

So in my last entry, I wrote about how all I do is complain to Franz, and when it really hurts, he doesn’t believe me.  Well, after that blog came out, a loyal reader (Hey, Katie!) suggested that we come up with a safe word to use.  You know, the one word that I’m allowed to use to tell him that NO I’M DEAD SERIOUS, I’M DYING.

When I walked into training on that Wednesday, I proposed this idea to him, and he laughed.  Then we both threw out words to use… at the same time.  His was ‘Nutella’.  Mine was ‘Marshmallow’.  The first thing I thought was, I need a s’more.

After this, he proceeded to kick my ass, and I couldn’t use my legs for two days, and I never did get my s’more.

By the way, when Katie suggested I use a safe word, she also told me I couldn’t abuse it.  I kept that in mind, until the end of my session.  I was tired.  I had been working so hard the whole time.  Pushing myself to my limits.  Feeling weak, but knowing I was strong.  The very last set of exercises he put me through was pushing the Man Sled down the ‘green’, and back.  He loaded it with 90 pounds, on top of it’s own heavy steel weight.  When I got back to the start, I immediately had to go into a plank for 45 seconds, and then do it all over again.  By the third set, I finally succumbed to my own pain and suffering, and yelled, “Nutella!  Marshmallow!!  NUTELLA AND MARSHMALLOW!!”.  And if you were wondering, he didn’t care.  I had to finish my last set.