Can’t Make This Up

If you follow along with Fat Girl Wunning, you know that some how, some way, I can make any work out session into a complete shit show.  Between hitting Franz in the crotch, almost falling off of a treadmill, swearing with no care in the world, or almost kicking Franz in the face, there is always something utterly ridiculous that happens.

This week was no different.

Get your imagination pants on and picture this…  It’s Upper Body Murder day, and I am still in the first half of my work out.  Franz tells me to get down in a plank position, with my legs wide apart. This will help me keep my balance because while I’m planking, I will also be doing rows with a 30lb weight.  This is a new exercise for me, so I was focusing a lot on how I was keeping myself up, how many muscles hurt, and oh, lift that weight the right way so you don’t have to hear Franz yell at you.  That’s when it happened.  I hit myself directly in the boob with the weight.  Straight shot.  Thirty pounds.

I sat up, clutching my flapjack, and looked up at Franz who was laughing at me.  It hurt.  I made that known.  Franz just continued to laugh.  I got back in the plank position, to finish my sets.  I continue with the other arm, and then switch back.  Three reps in, I smack the flapjack again.  This time, some how, I managed to keep it quiet.  No need to egg Franz on, and give him something to make fun of.  But dammit… weights to the boobs hurt!

Next up on the WTF Happened At The Gym Today list is when my shirt strap broke.  Same day as my Flapjack incident, my brand new gym shirt decided to steal the show.  All of a sudden, the adjustable strap was loose.  I go to tighten it, and it completely opens up.  The itty bitty plastic piece that holds the straps in place, had broken.  Super convenient timing.  Lucky for me, the broken strap just made me look stupid in a shirt with one strap hanging off, and it didn’t effect the whole ‘coverage’ aspect.  You bet your ass I drove right to the store I bought it from, and returned it that night.  (I also bought two more… maybe that ONE was defective?? 😉 )

Oh you thought we were done?  We’re not.  The very next training night was Lower Body Murder day, and holy moly Franz had it out for me.  As I sit here now, writing about it two days later, my legs are STILL throbbing.  Anyways, I did the entire work out, and my legs are like jelly, and in true Franz style, he has me do the hardest thing last.  You know, like when he’d have me push his ass on the sled, down the green…  On this day, Franz puts me on the leg press machine (or what I call the Birthing Baby Maker).  He adds 250 pounds of weight and tells me to do four sets of 25 reps.   TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY POUNDS.  I’m pretty sure my life flashed before my eyes on multiple occasions.  I was dying.  Complaining and swearing the whole time.  Wanting to fast forward time to when I was done, and I could roll off the machine and lay on the floor… to die.  On my last set, I think I got to number 16, and I pushed my legs up, and locked them in place.  I couldn’t do it any more.  Franz was tired of saying, ‘one more’, ‘let’s go’, ‘don’t stop’, etc. Instead, he said, ‘Remember that time I poured water over you when you were on the floor?’  I started laughing… then it hit me.  Franz stood there with his water in his hand and said, ‘KEEP GOING’.  I unlocked my legs, did three more reps, and stopped to cry again.  That’s when the nice luke warm stream of water came down on my face, soaking my chest, and running down my back against the seat of the disgusting machine.  Water splattered all over the floor, and the only thing I could do was laugh.  I was holding the weight up with my sore feet, and wobbly legs, and laughing so hard while trying to wipe the mix of sweat and water out of my eyes.

Then I hear it.  ‘FINISH, ALLY!’  Ok, ok… I struggle to get going, but I push out the last few reps, lock up the machine, and roll out of it like an old lady.  I was finally done.  Done, but I couldn’t walk.

Listen, if I can do it, YOU can do it.

Wun.

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The People At The Gym

Every time I start at a new gym, I kind of assess the people who are members.  It has nothing to do with their ability, weight, age, etc.  It mainly has to do with if they can handle me, and my mouth, being in their space, while I work out.  I’d be lying if I said that I thought I was a pleasure to work out around.  I know I’m not.  I swear, make a scene, complain, huff..puff… I’m a mess.  So, I assess the people around me.

This new gym has kind of a strange clientele, when I’m there.  Mostly older people, on the cardio machines, and a few people, usually a little younger, on the weights.  Oh, and there seems to be some sort of child gym training session going on at the same time I am there…which seems wildly inconvenient since I have the mouth of a trucker.

While getting to know the gym, and assessing the people, Franz tries to keep me on my best behavior.  It really isn’t something he can control….but he attempts to do it anyways.  During his latest attempt to control me, I met another staff member, when he was walking by us, and decided to stop for some comedic relief.  I don’t know his name, so we will call him Bob.  Everyone knows a Bob, right?

Bob has heard me tell Franz to shut up, and heard me complain, and heard me whine, and watched me lift, and watched me struggle.  Yesterday, Bob walked up to Franz to make a little ‘ha-ha’ about me, and Franz took it upon himself to tell a story.  A story about how he thinks that I look like the Hulk.  Not the Hulk when he is fully muscular, green, and scary big.  More like the Bruce Banner turning into the Hulk part of his identity, where he is basically moaning and groaning and making insanely ugly faces.   Bob agrees with Franz, that yes, I sound like the Hulk, and then turns to me and says that I’m much too pretty to be the Hulk, and instead, I must be Wonder Woman.  Well, how P.C. of you, Bob.  Oh, and thanks Franz.  If I didn’t think I was ugly when working out before, I know I am now.

Besides Bob, I seem to entertain many other people who are on the cardio machines, while I am lifting weights.  From begging for my life when struggling to lift over my head as my arms shake, to telling Franz that I dream about killing him, I’m sure they have no idea what to think about us.  Yesterday, I was switching between doing ten pull-ups, and then down to a bar, that was about 6″ from the ground, where I would do push-ups, and back again.  I was on my last set of pull-ups, and I was struggling.  I did the whole ‘kick your foot up as if that will help you lift yourself’ move, and I almost kicked Franz in the face.  Right on queue, we both start dying laughing at each other, and can’t really catch our breath.  Somehow, I finish the pull-ups, and turn around to head down to the bar.  As I hop down, an older woman gets off the treadmill, and walks past Franz.  As she passed, she says ‘Oh!  Is she your girlfriend?’

Nervous laughter, ‘No, I’m her trainer…’, Franz responds.

Then he looks at me with the death stare.

‘People think I am your WEAK boyfriend, because of how you talk to me!’, he says.  I start laughing, because she didn’t say anything to me…. It wasn’t like she said, Oh, be nice to your boyfriend.  No, she was making sure that I wasn’t hurting his feelings.  This much taller, bigger, and stronger man.  THAT’S whose feelings she was worried about!!  Amazing.

Ladies and Gentlemen… I have done my job.

 

Oh, besides making a scene when lifting, or when accidentally punching Franz in the baby maker, or crying for help when I feel like I’m truly dying… I also had the entire gym looking at me when I screamed because I almost fell off the treadmill.

And on that note, we’re done here.

 

#wun

365

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!! 😉

Education

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.

 

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!

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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!!

As If I Didn’t Already Know

I’m warming up at the gym.  I have a resistance band around my knees, and I am doing squats, then walking down the track, sideways, turning around going back, and doing it all over again.  I’m bent over, butt out, hands all dangly wangly- because I don’t know what the fuck to do with them.

‘I look stupid’, I say.

‘Well, you’re not an athlete, so you would think it was weird.  You don’t have an athletic stance’, he confidently responded.

Well shit, Franz.  Thanks for pointing out the obvious!  It’s almost as if I didn’t already know that I wasn’t athletic.  Oh, but I do.  I mean, holy crap, we can flash back to the multiple times I have written about maybe looking athletic, but not actually being athletic.  I’m well aware.

The confidence in me did something it would never have done before… it shot up.  I started to say to myself, ‘You can do this. You may think you look stupid, but no one else thinks you look stupid.  Keep Going.’  And I did- dangly wangly arms, and all.

Then I stopped mid-walk, grabbed my butt to soothe the muscle ache, and picked my wedge.  Ahh yes… everything is back to normal.

 

 

The Ten Worst Words I Could Hear

‘You have the rest of your life to work out’.

That’s what my boss said when we were talking about how much I hate Lower Body Murder Day and that I think I may have a hernia (more details on that later, when I have confirmation).

To elaborate, I had these bumps checked out by my doctor, but we aren’t sure if they are in fact hernias, and I am scheduled to see a surgeon.  I was talking to my boss, who is fit, athletic, and nutritionally smart.  He is my go to when I have dumb questions.  Anyways, we were chatting about these potential hernias (Yes, I know…HerniaSSSS. Two.) and he told me to take it easy at the gym.  Listen to my body.  Don’t let Franz push me to a point of no return because I don’t want to hurt myself.

Then he said it.

“You have the rest of your life to work out”.  Inside I thought, ‘OUCH.  You mean, my one work out tonight doesn’t count for forever?  You mean that I will still be doing this shit when I’m 90??’

I’m no dummy.  I know that tonights work out doesn’t count for forever.  I know that years from now, I’ll still struggle to complete some work outs and that I will push myself to new limits and new goals.  I know this… but I don’t like thinking about it.  I mean… compare it to hearing ‘You will be working for the rest of your life’.  Painful to hear, right?  That’s not exactly what he meant though, but it’s how I heard it.  What he meant was, I don’t need to feel like I HAVE to push myself to my limits RIGHT NOW, because if I get hurt, or hurt myself farther then I already have, then I won’t be able to do it long term.  Makes sense.

I proceeded to go to training, and Franz encouraged me and pushed me on a lower body work out that was concentrating on my midsection.  My abs (remember those 12 pack abs under my E.T. exterior??) were throbbing before I even left the gym.  I managed to complete 30 side planks on each side, 30 J-Curls, 60 lunges, and 54 squats among other things.  I didn’t cry, I almost barely complained, and I only talked about someday being in a full-body cast, once.