Try To Escape

What do you do when shit gets hard?  Do you throw yourself into work?  Sleep a lot more? Zone out watching Netflix for hours on end?

I tried a couple of those.  I also tried making a point to go to the gym when I wasn’t training, or go crazy with meal planning.  You know, just something to drown myself in.  That way, I didn’t think about how I didn’t have to drive for 2 hours a day for preschool, or what two children wanted to eat for dinner, or how many days worth of diapers we had left, or how I had to make sure the laundry was done so that we were prepared for purple spirit day.  You know…. all that.

In the midst of all of the shit that is my life, I haven’t stopped training.  Believe me, I’ve attempted to run away from Franz, but he wouldn’t let me.  Stupid go-go-gadget arms snatched me back up and snapped me back into reality.  The reality that, if I don’t do this, then I have for sure failed my own mission.  My own mission to be happy, healthy, and to be a good (eventual) mom. 

A few days after the kids left, I went to the gym to train.  I cried all the way there.  I sat in the parking lot, sobbing.  I gathered myself, walked into the gym, walked into the lobby, and cried.  I sucked it back up, went into the bathroom, and lost my shit.  You think we’re done? Wrong.  I walked back out to the vestibule only to break down AGAIN.  There was nothing that was going to help. 

I walked into the gym, and walked right past where I usually start my warm up. I walked right by it, and straight up to Franz.  One look, and he knew something wasn’t right.  I mean, It could have been the dead giveaway puffy red eyes, but I won’t guess on his behalf.  Anyways, I walked up to him, he looked at me, asked me what was wrong, I looked at him and said, ‘I can’t do this’. This is when he led me out the back door of the gym.  This was it.  I had set him off for the last time. 

Nawwwwwww…. Franz can’t get rid of me that easily. 

We walked outside, and he said, ‘were going to walk around the building, and you can tell me what’s going on’, and we did.  We walked.  I bitched.  I cried.

We got to the other side of the building, walked up to the front door, and Franz looked at me and said, ‘Cool, so, now that you have that out of your system, we’re going in.  You CAN do this, and you WILL do this.  If you cry in front of 20 (insert snooty suburban town name) moms, that’s on you.  Ready?’

Uh.. I guess. 

After an emotionally painful work out, I left, and the only only thing my body could do was sweat.  There were no more tears, just a shit ton of sweat.    

It’s kind of sort of maybe a little bit nice that I have someone who will motivate me, and encourage me, even when I am at my worst.  Don’t tell him though, I don’t need him getting even more cocky on me.

Reality, For The Third Time

Franz has a funny way of bringing me back to reality when I am getting too hyped up.  Actually, I will say that he is the one who is always telling me not to talk bad about myself, to hang out with people who speak highly of me, and to LOOK at myself, so I can see my progress… However, when I do stop and look at myself, Franz will take the opportunity to make fun of me, and laugh at me for noticing my ever changing body.

During one of my last training sessions, Franz basically made fun of me the whole time (he’s allowed, I promise).  At the end, when I was tired, weak, sore, and my skin was completely flush, Franz had me lifting barbells above my head.  The absolute fear of them falling out of my weak sweaty hands, while they are being held up in the air, is totally real and justified.  The fact that every time we do these exercises, the weight goes up, makes it even scarier.  I inevitably complain about how heavy the weight is, and how I ‘can’t do it’, and then I always finish.  During one of these moments of me complaining about how weak I am, Franz said, ‘You know, the reason this is so hard, is because you aren’t athletic’.

That’s literally the third time I’ve written about him saying this to me.  Which only means that he’s said it wayyyyy more than the times I’ve written about it.

He continued this stellar train of thought with, ‘I mean, it’s not like you grew up doing anything athletic, so you wouldn’t be athletic now…’

I quickly stopped him and said, ‘Umm… I don’t know why you think you know everything about me and my life, but I actually did a lot when I was a kid!! I was in gymnastics, and figure skating, and karate, and dance, and soccer!’  This is just another time that Franz (who is mostly kidding with me) and others just assume that just because I was fat, also meant that I must have never done anything athletic a day in my life.  He couldn’t have been more wrong.  Kind of the same irrational thinking when people think that people who are over weight must all eat McDonald’s all day, and people who are skinny must much on lettuce.  All wrong.  All assumptions.

Once I had put Franz back in his place, he retorted with, ‘Oh, well then you must not have been very good’.  Well, you’re probably completely correct, Franz.  I never stuck with anything long enough to BE any good at it.. but I did it, non the less.

Anyways, after my emotional beat down by my trainer, he mentioned that he could teach me some CrossFit moves, but they would be ‘really difficult, so if you want to go join a CrossFit gym after I teach you, then you should know you’ll probably die’.

And with that confidence boost, we continued our session, and I went on my way, and we haven’t spoken about CrossFit again.