You’ve Been Franz’d

Breaking News:  Apparently, ‘Franz’ is officially not only a noun, but also a verb.

Before we go on, I’d like to take a moment to clarify something that I know will come up.  Franz and I have a love and respect for each other, and we show each other in very strange ways.  Like a fucked up brother/sister relationship where we just make fun of each other, hit each other, and then laugh our asses off.  In fact, now that I say it, our relationship reminds me of the relationship I have with my real brother.  Maybe the fucked up one is really just….me?!  Anyways, I respect Franz no matter what he does or says.  You kind of have to know him to deal with the shit he does, and to be perfectly fair to Franz, it goes the same for dealing with me.  I seriously don’t know how he does it……… (in other words, no Ally’s were hurt in the making of this blog post)

With that being said, let’s begin.

It’s the end of the week, and I am at the gym doing an upper body training session with Franz.  The laughs and the giggles are getting to us, and I am trying my damnedest to stay focused and not waste all of my energy on laughing at him.

By now, you know that Franz does things just to make me laugh;  Like try to push me over, when I’m crouched down on the ground in between sets, catching my breath.  I’ve learned to be prepared, and he hasn’t knocked me down, lately.  Super proud of myself!  Yet, I wasn’t expecting what he did do.

As I was showing off the super awesome, amazing, incredible, huge muscles in my arms, he went to squeeze the muscle to make fun of me, and while he did it, he slapped my bicep.  This slap, left a red hand print on my already flush skin.  Of course, I scream ‘Abuse!’, and in normal ‘The Boy Who Cried Wolf’ fashion, no one came to my rescue, because they know me better than that.

A little while later, Franz decided to add to his artwork on my body, and left a pretty ‘good job, buddy’ hand print on my shoulder.  He’s hilarious.

As my training ends, and the thought of freedom from the gym lifts my spirits, we walk outside into the hot parking lot together, chatting.  It’s Friday.  We’re both a little giddy.  We get to my car, and Franz pauses mid sentence from whatever nonsense he was talking about, and says something about how funny he is when he pours water on me. So hilarious, Franz.  Really.

Without skipping a beat, he shakes is bottle of water towards me to scare me.  I flinch,  but it had the cover on it.  Phew!  Saved from the warm back wash splash to my face, that I (sadly) know so well….

Until he took the cover off.

He laughed his ass off, said “YOU’VE BEEN FRANZ’D!”, and walked off, leaving me soaking wet ….

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Sassy Pants

*Writer’s note:  I started writing this over a month ago… and finally finished today.  You’re welcome.

Five minutes… I had been in the boxing gym for five minutes, before the blonde firecracker called me ‘Sassy Pants’.

Five minutes after that, she walked into my arm as it went down, while doing a jumping jack when warming up.

So far, things were going exactly how I thought they would, at Kickboxing.

It’s my 5th week, and I am starting to get used to the abuse that kickboxing has on my body.  I still dread going, and during my ride over to the boxing gym, I question why the fuck I ever signed up in the first place.  Although, when it’s over, I am proud of myself for surviving.

I have learned that if I show up maybe five minutes late, that I don’t have to do the entire grueling warm up session.  It literally kills me.  Fucking lunges, side running, jumping jacks, burpees… everything about it sucks, and if you can believe it, I let everyone know JUST HOW MUCH I HATE IT.  Anyways, I have shown up just a little late to the remainder of the classes, just so I have enough energy to make it through the actual kickboxing, and not die in the first 5 minutes with warm up.  Seems to be working for me.

Firecracker will show everyone how to do a combination of moves with the bag, and then she will go around to everyone to make sure they are doing it correctly.  She has picked up on my sick sense of humor, and when she gets to me, she usually says something like, ‘Kick him in the knees!  Elbow his face! Knee to the groin!’ followed by something like ‘Hurt the fucking bastard!’.  I like her.  I like her a lot.

(Fast Forward)

All twelve sessions of torture have been completed, and I found myself, asking about prices for a new session, during my last 5 minutes of my last class.  In my head, I wondered why I was asking.  Did I really want to pay to subject myself to this torture again?!  The answer was, ‘not really’, but in all honesty, this was a really great work out, and I know that I was helping myself by being there.

It’s been three weeks since Kickboxing ended, and I never did sign up for more torture.  In fact, I also haven’t done what I told everyone I would do instead, which was go to a yoga class on Thursday nights.  Instead, I have sat on my ass.  Literally, just sat on my couch giving myself every excuse as to why it was OK that I wasn’t working out.  This isn’t going well.

The truth is, I have to find something to do, because I ended my gym membership.  Relax… I didn’t quit the Franz, I quit the gym.  Really for no other reason than I was paying more than any other members there, and I had belonged for over seven years.  I only did cardio when I went there, because Franz kicked my ass, else where.  There really wasn’t a point to keeping the membership.  In my head, I had Franz two days a week, kickboxing one day a week, and I would walk or find some other movement to fill in the rest.  Yet, since Kickboxing ended, I haven’t done shit.

I went to my Massage therapist yesterday.  If you remember, he also owns a Yoga Studio, and graciously gave me a one-on-one lesson about 6 months ago.  That was the LAST time I told everyone that I would do yoga.   When I left my appointment with him, I told him to have a great weekend, and he responded with, ‘Oh no! I’ll see you on Thursday night for yoga… remember?’
…Right.  I remember.

So basically, what I am trying to say is, check in with me next week, and make sure that I made it to Yoga on Thursday night.  Ok?

P.S.  I miss my firecracker.
P.P.S.  I hate burpees.

 

 

 

Gumby

Gumby.

Melting Gumby.

Oil Spill.

These are some of the things that my body has been compared to, most recently.  I’m not even mad.  It’s kind of amusing.   In fact, I liked ‘Melting Gumby’ so much, I started to say it about myself!  It’s a funny thing when you can make fun of yourself.  I want to be serious, and say that I look so good, and I look sexy (I’d NEVER say this)… or whatever, but I don’t.  Instead, I go along with what the hilarious people in my life are saying, because to be honest, they are funny and creative comparisons to my body.

I’m not saying that my body is all that bad.  I won’t lie… when people compliment me on my arms, I am so damn proud.  And you know what? I should be!  I’ve worked so hard!  I have done so much work, swearing, life threatening, and whimpering to get to this point.  Yet, it STILL doesn’t stop me from making fun of myself.   I’d like to say that I don’t mind that I have all this extra skin, and I will tell you (and everyone else) that it’s my ‘battle wounds’; but in all reality, it kind of sucks.  The skin is something that won’t really ever go away.  It might tighten up a little bit, but for the most part, it’s all mine, forever (or until I save enough money to have it taken care of).

I think the best part about this whole story that I have spewed out, is that not many other people notice these flaws.  No one is walking up to me and saying, ‘Damn girl, look at your arms!! If only you didn’t have those cute little batwings hanging off the bottom of them…’  No.  They just say, ‘DAMN GIRL, LOOK AT YOUR ARMS!’.  And I modestly say thank you, and that I have worked hard for them.

On that note, this is what happened the other day at the gym.  OH, by the way… Franz and I are at ANOTHER NEW GYM.  This one is much closer to home, which is great.  It’s basically in a warehouse, and it’s a torture chamber of hell for me.  Franz, on the other hand, was giddy with excitement to have a new space, new torture devices, and new people around us.  Does this sound familiar?  We’ve been through this a couple times.  When he’s giddy, I know that my work out is about to suck super bad.

Anyways, I am at the ‘new’ gym.  It’s upper body day, and Franz has me doing rows using a kettle bell, while leaning onto a block.  Conversation went like this:

F: ‘Here.  Do 4 sets of 8 reps.’
Me: ‘Are you kidding me?  How fucking heavy is this??’ (while picking up the kettle bell)
F: ‘……..uhhmm.  I don’t know.  Just pick it up!! (pause and slight thought)  I just picked the green one!’
Me: ”I just picked the green one‘ WHAT THE HELL FRANZ!!  It’s 57 pounds!!’
F:  ‘Eight reps’.

I did my set, struggled to get to 8 on each arm, and then before my next set, Franz changed out the kettle bell.  I’m 99% sure he knew it was too heavy, but he will say that it was because I was complaining too much, or that my rows were ‘ugly’.

Next up, four sets of 10 push ups, touching my chest to a pad.  I’m not sure why, but they seemed a lot harder than normal, but I pushed my weak ass body through it.  When I sat up, heaving, having worked out for a whopping 8.5 minutes at this point, a woman who was training with her trainer on a machine close by said, ‘I’m totally impressed.  You’re so strong!’

Franz jumped on me like peanut butter on jelly.  ‘OOOOOHHHHH!!  Don’t let that go to your head!  Now you’re going to tell everyone about this…’
‘Damn right I am!  I worked hard for it!’, I replied.

Fast forward to the end of my session with my BFFL Franz.  He has me hold a 75 pound plate weight in each hand, and walk from one end of the track, to the other, four times.  The first time I get to the far end, I take a break, and the same woman is there watching me.  Franz formally introduces himself as a new trainer, as I’m over here struggling to breath.  A minute goes by and I heave the weights up again, and off I go.

On my second trip down the track, the woman says, ‘Seriously… you’re SO strong!!’.  Inside I was giddy with excitement.  Yes, I am!! I’m so strong!! I am proud, too!  Yet, what came out of my mouth was nothing less than …well, very Ally-like.
‘That’s because he likes to murder me when he sees me…..’, motioning to Franz.

Ladies and gentlemen, I have made my first impression at yet another new gym.

Love always, Melting Gumby

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Cha Cha Slide

Scene: Lower Body Murder Day at the gym.
Characters:
Me- Kicking, screaming, swearing, crying, complaining, and sweating like I’ve never sweat before.
Franz- Barking orders, rolling his eyes, visibly annoyed, laughing at me.

The whole time I was working out (and complaining), Franz was barking his orders.  “Left leg, come on!”  “Ok, right leg this time”.  It didn’t occur to me until I was doing my very last work out of the session, laying on the birthin’-baby-maker (leg press machine), and Franz has me using one foot at a time to push up the weight.  Ten reps, then I switch to the other leg.  Each time I switch legs, Franz barks his order. That’s when it hits me.  I realize that he sounds like he’s actually reciting the lyrics to the Cha-Cha-Slide.  I start laughing so hard, tell him, and from then on, everything he says just sounds like he’s about to break out in dance.  Pretty sure he finished off with “Cha Cha, real smooth…’. Always nice to have something to make us laugh through the pain, right?

I swear to God that when I go to the gym I have NO intention of complaining.  In fact, I try really hard to be positive, and tell myself that I can do it, and I know why I’m doing it, and taht I absolutely positively won’t complain, this time…. and then I do.  I really do appreciate Franz and his ability to just deal with my nonsense.  I wouldn’t do what I do, or be as strong and capable as I am, if it weren’t for him.

However, when I am there, I hate life.  I hate Franz.  I hate having to do what I’m doing.  I hate the pain.  I hate the sweat in my eyeballs.  I hate it all… but I ALWAYS come back for more.

I guess if every day could feel as fun as doing the Cha-Cha-Slide, then I would be alright.

For your viewing pleasure…. Cha Cha Slide

 

Cha-Cha and wun.

RGF 2

RGF.  Resting Gym Face.  I have written about it before, and I am going to say it again.  I have a serious Resting Gym Face.  The other day at the gym, Franz told the other trainers, ALL about my RGF.  His actual words were, ‘I don’t even know what her normal face looks like, because she always has some dumb look going on’.  #helovesme

In reality, I have Resting Bitch Face, in general.  Recently that was proven to me over and over (and over and over), while I was on vacation visiting friends in Arizona.  I was there for a good friends wedding, and spent a lot of time with her, and some of the other girls in the wedding party.

It all started the night I got there, when we went out to dinner.  I had been up since 5:30 am Boston time, and it was 7 pm in Scottsdale.  If you’re slow on math, that means that it was 10 pm back in Boston.  I was tired.  I was hungry.  Apparently, I had RBF.  The bride snapped a lovely photo of me, laughed her ass off, showed everyone, everyone laughed THEIR asses off, and then it began.  Their mission to take as many pictures of my RBF as possible.

At the end of my 5 day trip, an album was shared to my phone with 35 pictures (btw: this was only from ONE persons camera), exclusively of my faces.  It was really really difficult, but I narrowed the images down to the top 6, including the one that started it all.

Let’s start from the top and work our way right…

  1. RBF at dinner the first night that I was there.  The image that started it all…
  2. RBF face in Sedona when I caught the bride taking a photo of me during lunch.  This was actually a series of about 6 images.
  3. Dumb face during the cocktail hour of the wedding with one of the best bridemaids around.
  4. Your Fat Girl Wunning making her best face while waiting in line for Ice Cream for 10 minutes, and then I didn’t even buy any.
  5. Back to the first night, where the restaurant made a mistake of having a wooden cut out, and I took full advantage.
  6. Finally, while walking in Sedona, I stopped to say hello to a mannequin on a bench.  We had a thrilling and hilarious conversation.

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So this may not have been totally about the gym, but I sure do hope that I could make you laugh on this lovely day.

I’d like to thank the contributors to this lovely entry.  The bride herself, Steph, and her lovely husband Josh, and two of the best bridesmaids I’ve ever had the pleasure of sharing matching dresses with, Jen and Cassandra.

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Also, just because I can’t be the only one having all of the fun here, I decided to add my favorite gem of the bride, who also made some incredible faces, during our time together.

I love you Stephie, xoxo! -‘popcorn’.

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Shock

So, I was going through my phone, deleting albums and pictures from many years ago.  I’m not quite sure how one can have 17,600 photos on their phone, but I do.  Anyways, as I was going through pictures I came across one that I took of myself during one of my MANY attempts at starting a weight loss journey.  When I saw the picture there were so many emotions.  First of all, I felt sad.  I couldn’t even believe that at one point I looked like that.  Why did no one ever say anything to me?  No one has a problem telling me I’m too skinny, now… so why not tell me how unhealthy I was, before??

Besides being sad, I was in shock.  My shock came from the realization that even being the person who lived in that body, even I didn’t know how bad it was.  Isn’t it amazing how easily we put blinders on things we don’t want to see?  I mean, I truly do not remember myself like this.  It’s funny to me, because last year, I went through some old medical paperwork, and came across a visit summary from my doctor, and written on it was my weight.  The number was one that I absolutely do NOT remember weighing.  It was higher than I ever remembered.  It was a shock to my system… just like seeing this photo.  If I think about it, the doctor visit, and the picture were probably around the same time in my life.

I haven’t gotten to the part where I am happy with how far I’ve come.  Probably because I haven’t allowed myself to believe I was that bad, before this journey.

So, thanks to date stamps for pictures, I know that the picture was taken in February of 2011.  I was 27… about 6 days from my 28th birthday.  If I think back on that time in my life, I remember that I was super unhealthy, but I still tried.  I drank a lot, my work schedule was all over the place, I stayed out late and had a terrible sleeping schedule.  I was basically a hot ass mess.  The picture basically proves that.

To help myself see how far I’ve come, I found an image from April of 2018, and made a comparison shot.  I also like to think about everything that has changed.  My work schedule is in MY control now, not in the control of a retail company.  I gave up those sugary margaritas and shitty hangovers from staying out drinking.  My sleeping isn’t any better, but it has nothing to do with my partying.  For the most part, things are different… and that’s why I am different.

So, without further ado, and with much shame and embarrassment, I share this side by side picture.  I’m sharing because I know that someone out there needs to see it.  Someone will look at this and say, ‘If she can do it, so can I’.  That’s all that matters to me.

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#seriouspostshappen

wun.

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.