Medicine Ball Of Death

It’s no joke that my anger goes into overdrive when my trainer says, ‘Warm up and I’ll meet you on the green!’.

The green is the area of the weight room that has the plyo box.  Enough said.  No, but it also has the sled, the battle ropes, hand weights, and kettle bells, amongst other things that are trying to murder me.   We call it the green because the ground looks like it’s fake grass.  It’s honestly my personal hell.

I absolutely, 100%, HATE when he tells me to ‘meet him on the green’.  It has come to my realization that I hate it because I know I am weak when I work out over there.  I know that I lose my breath faster, and my throat starts to burn worse, and I am just plain old fucking miserable, when I’m there.  I am much more comfortable and accustomed to working out on the weight machines.  I guess that’s why he makes me work out on the green.  He knows I need to challenge myself.  He’s doing for me.  But… really?  Fuck that business.

Anyways, it’s upper body murder day, and I am on ‘the green’.  It’s the end of my work out, and I have already spent the better part of my 30 minutes pushing my arms and shoulders to their limits.  I have lifted weights in all sorts of ways, and I have done a pretty good job of NOT complaining, the whole time.  In fact, I barely complained when I hurt.  I pushed through it.  I have goals, dammit.  I’m not going to get there by whining.

That thought process quickly went out the window when I saw that he had the Medicine Ball Of Death in his hands, on ‘the green’.  It was the last part of my work out.  I would be doing three sets each, of four different movements.  Ten reps of lifting my arms over my head with 15 pound weights in each hand.  Five reps of lifting the same weights like a bird flapping it’s wings (that’s the actual technical term for this move, I’m pretty sure). Ten push ups (because he’s an asshole).  And finally, ten catches of the medicine ball, then lifting it over my head, and slamming it to the ground.  I make it through the first set of the first three movements, and then I struggle my ass off with the medicine ball.  Like, between each and every lift and slam, I am dying.  My arms hurt.  I have sweat in my eyes.  I am weak.  I am tired.  …and apparently, I’m making those oh so famous, Dumb Workout Faces.

He couldn’t stop laughing at me.  Very single catch of that ball, and grunt when I tried to lift it, and apparent face I made- he laughed.

I made it through, and finished all three sets, and by the third set, I was chucking the ball down on the ground with ease (mostly because I was picturing it being his face).

While we were walking back to the front of the gym, he turned to me and said, ‘That medicine ball episode should never have aired on TV.  You laughed more than you threw the ball.’  Uhh, yes.  Because laughing is how I keep from crying, my friend. And we all know we don’t need a crying client ‘on the green’.

This One Is About A Wicked Nice Farmer I Know

I’ve posted about the hilariously shitty things that people have said to me, about my weight loss, but this time, I want to share a story about a really nice comment.

My town has a Farmer’s Market, and I’ve gone every Thursday, in the summer, for at least six years.  I go to the same vendor for fruits and vegetables, every single time.

Over the years, I’ve gotten to know the guy who runs this particular stand.  We have small chit chat, and he’s always very pleasant.  He’s really a very, very nice guy (also cute, but that has nothing to do with it. haha!).  Once upon a time, he told me his name, but I never remember names…because I suck.  I call him Farmer Brown, when I talk about him.  Judge me.

Yesterday, while paying for my pretty peaches and zucchini, Farmer Brown said, ‘Umm… I don’t know if this is ok to say; I mean, I don’t know if I’m allowed to say this, but you’ve lost a lot of weight!  Is that ok to say?  I hope it is!  You look great!’

I replied, ‘OF COURSE!’  I thanked him, and told him a few stories about the crazy shit people have said, and how this weird human race thinks it’s ok to say kind of, well,  slightly rude comments about people who lose weight (but not when they gain it, of course!).  He was shocked at the things I’ve heard, and we just laughed about it.

I will say, that sometimes it’s awkward when people say something, but deep down I actually really enjoy it.  I don’t enjoy it because I’m narcissistic.  I enjoy it because sometimes I don’t see the changes.  When other people haven’t seen me in a while, their reactions are always nice because that’s how I know I’ve changed.  My hard work, and dedication to this process, has all been worth it, when I get those reactions.

Anyways, I really wish that he knew that he absolutely made my day.

 

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)

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??

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

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Guys, look!!  It’s me!!!

“That Sounds Like A GREAT Idea”

I said…… when challenged with a 5k.

Not just any 5k, oh no.  The Roc Race.  Basically the show “Wipe Out” in real life.  Can you picture this?  ME??  Being knocked off of a beam by huge balls? Falling into the water below a crazy obstacle?  I mean really, even my trainer was hesitant about me doing it. So you know what I did?  Signed up.  Why not prove the ONE person who knows my limits, wrong (or right, we’ll soon find out).

Look  it up! www.rocrace.com  In fact, join our team!! There’s still time!

I have a chalkboard at home counting down my days until I get  my ass handed to me.  It sits at my front door as a reminder when I leave that I only have a few more days.. ok, fine 32, but it feels like it’s happening tomorrow.

 

These are some reactions I have gotten when telling people about the race:

‘OH! I know that race, I’m doing it too’ -not bad….

‘WHAT? YOU? You’ll never make it” -positive reinforcement from my trainer (I love him, he rocks, I swear)

‘Do you win anything?’ -No, because I’m pretty sure I won’t finish.

‘You may want to train on the monkey bars’ -manager at my gym.  Encouraging advice.

‘Please, for everyone, video tape it’ -GoPro anyone?

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Recognition

As weird as it is, and as much as I share in my blogs, it was hard for me to show a true before and ‘after’ (or as I’d like to call it, DURING) picture to my Facebook family.  I know how strange that sounds, considering this is coming from a person who literally writes the ridiculous things that happens during her work outs.  I mean, I’m not afraid to show you my sweaty face, tell you that I have been crapped on by a bird; But showing this picture, makes me feel super vulnerable.

When I posted this picture, I was nervous.  BUT, the response was amazing.  Overwhelming, in fact.  People can see the difference, they can see the changes, and they are interested.  They are moved.  It’s kind of come full circle with me.  This blog started as a joke with my best friend, and my mom.  A place to start writing out the dumb things I go through/think/do during my work outs.  The response I received on here, made me feel like I was helping at least ONE person.  So, here I am again.  Nervous to make it public, but excited to see the response.

The new me.  -22lbs and 31 inches SO FAR.  So much to go… but what an awesome start!

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The left is one week before I started, while on vacation in the Dominican.  The right is 35 days into my new life.  Heathy, clean eating, and working my ass off just a little bit more at the gym!