RGF.  Resting Gym Face.

Franz actually requested that I call this entry “Resting Gym Bitch Face”, but it didn’t seem to roll off the old tongue as easily.

I make dumb faces in all aspects of my life.  When I take pictures of myself, I make dumb faces.  When I see people do dumb shit out in public, I make dumb faces.  When I am listening to my friends/family/Franz speak, I make dumb faces.

So, it’s no secret that I would make dumb faces when I am at the gym.  Oh god there are so many reasons as to why I would be making faces… One of which being- I’m listening to Franz.  Like, when he tells me over and over again to STARE at him while he demonstrates an exercise, even though I can see him in the mirror I am looking at.  That definitely calls for a ‘face’.  When I am struggling to lift weights, I make a face.  A very clear, ‘WHYYYYY MEEEEEE’ face.  And please, have no doubt in your mind when I tell you, that my best faces are when I am resting between sets.  When I am struggling to catch my breath, and not die.  Those are the best ‘faces’.  That’s when Franz will laugh at me.

Franz will not only laugh at me, but will follow up his deep belly laugh with a comment about my face.  His head will be back, while he laughs uncontrollably, and holds his stomach.  When he catches his breath, he will look at me and say, ‘You look so dumb.  You’re faces are stupid.’

Do you know what that is?  Love.

Yup!  That’s love.  He knows that I can’t be mad about what he says, because he knows that I know all about my dumb faces.  I know I look stupid.  Sometimes, I even catch my own face in the mirror, and I laugh at myself.  It’s hard not to.  I look ridiculous.

With that being said- I need this shirt.IMG_1277


Size Matters

Get your damn minds out of the gutter….

Some poeple can remember what they weighed, or what size clothing they wore WAY back when they were in High School, or even Middle School.  My best friend and I talk about this a lot.  She can remember what she weighed at all sorts of times in her life.  When we talk about it, it always makes me really think, because I really can’t remember things like that.  Personally, I think I blocked those numbers out of my head.

The only things I really remember are certain shopping trips to the good old Natick Mall. Headed to popular clothing stores, and hoping and praying they would have my size on the rack, so I could shop with my friends.

At one point in time, they did.  That was back when I wore a size 9.  I don’t know why, but I remember this number; Like, it’s engraved in my brain.  Size Nine.  This was back in my freshman and sophomore years of High School.  I even remember this cute little blue skirt that I had, that I was so happy to be able to wear.  It was light blue, and short, and had a cute little slit on the right thigh, and had a zipper back.  This was also the same skirt that my teacher told my parents I couldn’t wear, because it was distracting, so I would hide it in my backpack to change into, when I got to school.  NO ONE can stop a wanna be fashionista.  Not even a Spanish teacher.

Sorry, I am teetering off the mountain called ‘THE SUBJECT OF THIS BLOG’.  My apologies.  Anyways, size 9.  As health issues arose, and my body started showing it’s challenges, my size 9 became a thing of the not so distant past.  Numbers got bigger, and I didn’t remember any of the sizes of my clothing.  Like, if you asked me what size I was in senior year of High School, I wouldn’t be able to tell you.  However, I would be able to say that it SUCKED finding clothing.  Nothing fit.  Nothing cute, anyways.  Shopping trips with friends were complete inner torture.

Part of being Plus Sized means finding the right cut, and fit for clothing, and stores that sell them.  It took me most of my plus sized adult life to find Torrid.  Torrid is a store that services curvy girls sizes 10-?? (I forget).  All I know is, I spent all of my money there.  I had more clothing than I can explain.  I created a fashion style with their clothing.  In few words: I was addicted.

As I started to lose weight, I had to sell all of my clothing.  All of my pretty, well cared for, loved, beautiful, expensive clothing.  I also had to create a whole new wardrobe and learn to dress a whole new body.  Still trying.

Today, I had to go and buy nice black pants, for an event, because since I had to sell all of my clothing… I have nothing when I need it.

I’m in Express, and I try on some cute black skinny pants, and like usual, my awkward body makes clothing shopping challenging, and the fabric is swimming around my knees and ankles.  The cute little sales lad says, ‘What size are those?’

‘8’, I reply.  (STOP.  Right here… can you believe that??  I can’t)

‘Do you have some room in the waist?’ he says.

I proceed to stick my fingers into the waistband and pull the pants away from my body, just like my Nana used to do when we would do back to school shopping at Marshall’s.  Sure as shit, there’s space between me and the fabric.

‘Uhh… a little?’ I answer.

‘You should try a size 6’, he says (And I actually waited for him to snicker, but he didn’t.  He was serious.)

‘Listen…. if I am a size 6, then we are going gambling.  Cows are jumping over the moon, and pigs are actually flying…’ I reply, in true Ally style.

He looks at me like I have 10 heads, laughs a little to be polite, and walks out of the dressing room to retrieve the pants that surely won’t fit me.

When he returns, I take them into the dressing room (kind of dreading taking off my boots and jeans AGAIN), and I slide them on.  So far so good… but come on… they won’t button, will they?  Yes.  Yes they did.

Size 6.  A new number to engrave in my brain.  The shock hasn’t really worn off…. and even when I modeled them when I got home, it was a shock all over again.  Size 6.

Truly, the size doesn’t matter.  Seriously.  It’s how I feel about the clothing.  I never looked at the sizes in my plus size clothing and got sad thinking about what I wore… I was so happy in my clothes.  It’s just moments like today, when I will look back and remember how I felt.  Just like the blue size 9 skirt from freshman year, these pants will remind me of this feeling, forever.


I still think about that skirt….

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!


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!!

InBody Proof

Two months ago, I told you guys all about how I got to use the coolest machine ever… InBody.  InBody measures your body content, and breaks it down as far as telling you what each arm or leg weighs, and what percentage of that is fat/muscle/etc.

In my past post, I was shocked that using this program, and seeing the results, got me so excited.  Like, where did this Ally come from?  Numbers on the scale tell such a small part of the story when you’re getting healthy.  No matter what you think, the number on the scale doesn’t mean as much as you think… the following is proof.

(Please keep in mind that in this time, the scale didn’t change much.  In fact, it fluctuated up and down, between a few pounds, but I never truly lost any weight.)

InBody Results

11/2017                                                       1/2018

60 lb          skeletal muscle mass        62.2 lb

42.6 lb               body fat mass               39 lb

28.2%         percent of body fat        25.7%

So, let’s pause for a moment, and give Franz a quick shout out.  In two months, he helped me gain 2.2 lbs of muscle mass.  See?  If I had seen a gain of 2.2 lbs on the scale, I would have freaked out; but deep down, I wasn’t gaining bad weight.  I was building muscle.  That a GREAT number to see.  Ok, keep going… I lost 3.6 lbs of body fat!! WHAT?!  I guess all my struggling, and nutrition fact counting is worth it.  And, if you didn’t follow this… this all boils down to a 2.5% loss in body fat.  In. Two. Months.

Left Arm:

I gained .2 lbs, and 3.7% of lean mass (muscle)

Right Arm:

I gained .24 lbs and 4.7% of lean mass (which is amazing since this is the arm that I hurt, back in August)

Left Leg:

I gained .62 lbs and 3.9% of lean mass

Right Leg:

I gained .31 lbs and 1.8% of lean mass

One more pause.  Seriously.  I don’t know how much better to explain this to you… but numbers on the scale truly are not everything.  Obviously.  I mean, they mean something, but we all put far too much weight (pun intended) on the numbers that we see on the scale, when our bodies are SO MUCH MORE than that.

Now, let’s discuss my E.T. core.  I KNOW there is muscle underneath this hot ass mess… November:  112.8% lean mass and 48.6 lbs.         January: 114.3% lean mass and 49.3 lbs.

My new goal is to continue to rely on these InBody results to prove to myself that things really are changing, even when the scale isn’t.  Also, I will start to track my measurements.  I know that doing this will help me focus on the positive changes happening, even if they aren’t blatantly obvious to me.

In the meantime, I mentioned all of this to Franz, and he was super pumped.  He spoke so highly of himself, that I threatened him with greasing doorways so he can get his fat head through them.

That Time A High School Child Watched Me Work Out

So let me start off by saying that I am SICK AND TIRED of not being able to go to the gym, and work out with my trainer.  Physical Therapy has been ridiculously helpful for my shoulder injury, but I feel like a waste of space without my routine.  On Tuesday, at my PT appointment, I asked about heading back to work with my trainer, and the staff at the office collaboratively put together some ideas of things for me to do without further hurting myself.

On Wednesday, I was back at it.  After PT on Tuesday, I immediately messaged my OLD trainer (I’mmmmmm BAAAAAACKKKK!!!) and told him what I could and couldn’t do.  He was on board, and we scheduled my first day back with him, at a new facility.

I was freaking petrified of starting again, and honestly, I should have believed my fear.  It was as if I had never been before in my whole life.  So this new facility is a great space and like I described in a previous post, it was like an entire place made up like ‘The Green’, at my gym. Fortunately for everyone on planet earth, only two people were working out, while I was there.  Unfortunately for me, they were both innocent children (Presumably, High Schoolers).  I quickly got into Nanny Mode, and stifled my swears.

The very first thing the devil of a personal trainer I have wanted me to do, was jump up onto a block.  Jump.  I don’t jump.  Let’s not forget, that I may be skinnier, but I’m not any more athletic.  In fact, I still have all that BODY left hanging around (Picture E.T.), so jumping seems completely out of my reach.  Never mind the fact that I have SLS (self diagnosed and named Short Leg Syndrome), and he wanted me to jump on a block half my height. After much complaining, his alternative for me was to ‘long’ jump down the track.  I basically fucking hopped.  I was completely self conscience, made fun of how far my distance was, and asked him to describe my jiggle upon landing.   The whole time, one of the poor, innocent, children WATCHED and LISTENED (and smirked- little shit).  I felt totally ridiculous, totally out of shape, and totally weak.

Those kids got the show of their life.  I was this hot mess of a prematurely elderly bodied woman in her mid-thirties, struggling to breath, and move, who was threatening her trainers existence.  Maybe they will use this live comedy show as motivation to never stop what they are doing, and to continue to work hard at the gym.  That’s all I can ask for, really.

So, jumps, kettle bell lifts, step ups, sit and stand shit, sled pushing, and basically humping air from a laying position (I think I should make a video of this move to post on here) and I was done.  It was only thirty minutes of pure hell, and sweaty eyeballs (yes.), but I was done.  I landed on the floor of the gym, throat and chest burning, and all I could think was, ‘I feel like I’ve never done this before in my life’.

I’ll be back next week.

P.S. My text to my trainer after my session was not an apology for threatening his life.  Instead, it was me telling him he missed me threatening his life.  He responded saying that he agreed, and I was one of a kind.  I think he loves me. ❤

P.P.S. My body hurt so badly that my arm was sore while stirring dinner.

Do You Have Five Minutes?

It’s Thursday night.  I have completed two sessions with my new trainer, and I’m laying on my couch recuperating.  My phone buzzes and it says that I have a text from my old trainer.

‘How was the first week?’ he asks.

‘Well, I didn’t swear’ I answered.

After a few back and forth messages about my new trainers training technique, he asks what I am doing on Friday morning.  I tell him I’m going to visit my grandparents…but why???

‘I wanted to see if you could meet me at a gym.  I found a place where I can train people.  I chose my favorite five clients, and you made the list.’

How is that even possible?  I am the worst to him.  I mean, I threaten his life on a daily basis!  Oh well… I MADE THE LIST!!  Unfortunately, this doesn’t change the fact that I can’t go see the gym, but I am excited at the prospect of training with him again (guess I should have held my breath after all!!).

So, it’s Friday morning, and I place a mobile Starbucks order, hop in my car, and head down the street to grab my espresso.  I get out of the car, and walk with my head down, staring at my phone.  All of a sudden I hear, ‘Ohhh… I thought you were going to see your grandparents.  That’s why you couldn’t meet up with me’!  I look up, and see my old trainer.  I’m completely startled.  This is the equivalent to seeing a teacher outside of school.  It’s just not supposed to happen.

I pull myself together, and start laughing and telling him that I am just grabbing my coffee, and headed to see my grandparents.  He asks if I have five minutes to check out the gym, and before I can resist, he pulls me down the sidewalk.

We walk into this space full of VERY athletic looking people.  Women are seamlessly puling themselves up on bars. People are lifting weights as if they were picking up feathers.  Most of the space is what the ‘Green’ looks like at the gym.  Remember the ‘green’?  The space in the gym that I hate the most?  This place was 100% ‘green’ area.

My trainer explains that he can train me here, and he can do it the way he really wants to.  ‘You’re going to transform’ he says.

All I can think about are all the ways I’ll picture hurting him, while training here.





It’s the first week after my trainer left the gym, and I am starting with someone new.  I have seen this new trainer around the gym, and I didn’t have anything good or bad to say about him, I just didn’t know him.  When he was assigned to take me over as a client, I did the nice thing, and prepared him for my vulgar language and piss poor attitude.

Our first real conversation was while I was walking on the treadmill.  He came up to me and tried to have a normal conversation.  He was telling me about how he went to Boston with his family, and I was desperately trying to listen, I swear.  It was hard.  I had no interest in the conversation, and I immediately decided we had nothing in common.   This just wasn’t going to work.

I message my old trainer, and tell him ‘I can’t do it’.  He knows exactly what I’m talking about, and says, ‘Yes I can, just laugh at him.  It’s what I used to do.’  Oh, ok.

My first day of training comes, and we did things a little differently than I was used to.  I hated 90% of the exercises, but I didn’t complain.  In fact, I didn’t even swear the whole time.  By the end of my session, my arms were killing me, my shoulders were throbbing, and my midsection was on fire.  That’s when he said, ‘Let’s do Battle Ropes’.  He seriously must be on crack.  I was near tears, but I sucked it the fuck up, didn’t complain, and grabbed the ends of the ropes with both hands.  I shook those things as hard as I could, for as long as I could.  It was seriously like 20 seconds.  I stopped.  Ten seconds later, I do it again.

I really felt weak, until a guy turned to me and said, I can’t even do that for twelve seconds.  I know he was just saying that because he was head to toe muscle, had been working out for an hour without breaking a sweat, and was confident enough to wear man-capris.  He can battle rope with the best of them, I know it.  …but deep down, I appreciated it.

By the end of the week, after I completed both upper body and lower body murder day, I appreciated my new trainer a little more.  I don’t think I’ll be able to joke with him like I did my last trainer, or slap his arm, but I’ll get a good work out and thats what counts… I guess.


This shirt says the whole truth and nothing but the truth.