Defying The Limits I Clearly Set For Myself

So, before we begin, go refresh your pretty little memories of the epic blog entry below.

Wait, You’re Stronger Now.  Try This.

Ok.  Was that fun?  Are you ready to see where this goes?

It’s Upper Body Murder day, and Franz has me starting on the rowing machine doing 500 meters, immediately making fun of me for going too slow (I do 500 meters in about 2.5 minutes..), and telling me all about how HARD the following work out will be.  You could literally see the look of pure evil and joy in his eyes.

The work out started out pretty normally. Heavy weight, me complaining, Franz rolling his eyes.  All very normal.

Normal, until he told me to come over to him.  He was standing under the dreaded bar.  The pull up bar.  I groaned. I said, out loud, ‘You seriously must be on crack if you think I’m going to do this.  Do you remember what happened the last time?  Remember the heart attack I gave you?  DO YOU WANT THAT TO HAPPEN AGAIN?!‘  The only other woman in the gym audibly laughed.  I am obviously spreading joy everywhere I go.

I begrudgingly walked over to him, and he was holding this massive rubber band loop that was attached to the bar above.

‘Put your foot in this’,  he said.

I lift my leg, and put my foot into the band.  He lets go and my leg immediately shoots out in front of me, 90 degrees.  I start dying laughing.  Franz hates me.

‘Put your foot down and keep your feet together’, he ordered.

I follow the instructions.

‘Now… pull yourself up.’, he said, like the delusional man he is.

I do.  I pull myself up.  The band allowed me some assistance on the way up, and some control on the way down.  Wait- it was supposed to control me on the way down, but we all know how awkward and fucked up I am.  I go down, and my legs go all wobbly and swing out in front of me.  This doesn’t happen once, or twice… it happens literally every time I try to go down.  Franz is getting annoyed.  I’m laughing, but I have officially done 10 chin-ups.

I will say, between the tears in my eyes from laughing, and the core strength to keep my legs controlled, I was kind of proud of myself.  Well, like half proud. You may be questioning why I was only half proud of myself.  Well, in my head, the band is a crutch.  This is a fake way to do chin-ups.  It has to be.  When I say this to Franz, he rolls his eyes, and tells me it’s not cheating, and points out the fact that I have now done 20 chin-ups.

BTW- In between each set, I had to do bench presses with 25 pound weights in each hand.  When I was done, I had to get that damn foot back into that damn rubber band…without accidentally kicking Franz in the damn face.

Each set of chin-ups I did, looked ridiculous.   I was constantly swearing under my breath, and my shirt was getting caught on the band, and E.T. was popping out.  It may or may not have been the most attractive thing I have ever had the pleasure of watching in the gym mirror.  Poor Franz had a front row seat to this shit show.

Below is a picture of what this exercise could look like, IF I was a normal person.  Thank God there isn’t an actual image of me attempting it.


P.S. In the end, I managed a total of 30 chin-ups.  We’ve come a l-o-n-g way, friends.



You know when you get some recognition about something you do, or who you are, and you’re surprised anyone noticed?  Like that time I had a friend of mine, who I used to work with, who told me that I made a huge impact on her.  She looked up to me.  WHAT?!    Mind blown.  I mean, you could even equate this to being recognized for doing a great job at work.  Kind of gives you a boost to keep on going, right?

Well, this blog does the same thing for me.  Every comment, ‘like’, or visit to my page, excites me.  Not because you guys are reading about me- but because I know I am going to make someone laugh, or think, or try harder, or dig deeper.

My last blog entry about Franz was read, and reblogged, by a fellow WordPress writer.  Her page is amazing.  Her descriptions and blogging about her trainers had me laughing so hard!  (How the hell did she convince them to take pictures and allow her to post them, dammit?!  I can’t even use Franz’s real name!)

Anyways, she reblogged my post, and it was because she totally GOT how I felt.  She understood why I need Franz (and all my past trainer victims) in my life.  It’s not because I don’t know how to do what I have learned.  It’s because my trainer is my motivator.  He is my friend (whether he likes it or not).  He’s my personal comedian, and my personal verbal punching bag.  The good thing is, he can handle me, and everything I throw at him.  I heart you Franz.

Check out Brooke on her page.  She may be my long lost twin.

via Yes,You Need A Personal Trainer/Coach.

Truth Be Told

So today I went to my nutritionist to check in and chit chat about my eating habits, and what I can improve on.

She was very happy with all of my progress, and was able to look at my food diary on MyFitnessPal to see where I am with getting all of my nutrients in.  She opened up my log, and said, ‘Ok, let’s look at yesterday.’  I immediately respond, ‘Ohhh… yesterday was probably a high carb day!’.  Her eyes got wide, as she looked up at me, and said, ‘Ummm…. no.’

This is when I learned that I have been eating far too few carbs, and probably could use more calories in my day.  See?  A check in with a nutritionist is good, every once in a while.

The coolest part of my appointment was using the InBody machine.  The machine basically analyzes your entire body, and breaks down your body composition, analyzes your BMI, and your muscle-fat.  It breaks it down all the way to each leg, and arm.  It’s pretty incredible.

Here is the best part about this test (besides that it shows how hard I’ve been working at the gym).  There is actual proof that my right arm and my left leg are weaker than their counterparts!! I’ve been saying it all along, and I was right!!  It literally shows that the muscle mass is lower in my right arm, and left leg.  Incredible.

Also… remember that time I said that I am pretty sure there are six-pack abs underneath the E.T. exterior of my stomach?  Apparently I am right about that, too.  My muscle mass was above average!  BOOM!!!

Next time I go to see her, in January, we will do another test, and it will compare results to this past appointment.  The fact that I am super excited about that, blows my mind, but I am.

Get out and WUN!

Safe Word

So in my last entry, I wrote about how all I do is complain to Franz, and when it really hurts, he doesn’t believe me.  Well, after that blog came out, a loyal reader (Hey, Katie!) suggested that we come up with a safe word to use.  You know, the one word that I’m allowed to use to tell him that NO I’M DEAD SERIOUS, I’M DYING.

When I walked into training on that Wednesday, I proposed this idea to him, and he laughed.  Then we both threw out words to use… at the same time.  His was ‘Nutella’.  Mine was ‘Marshmallow’.  The first thing I thought was, I need a s’more.

After this, he proceeded to kick my ass, and I couldn’t use my legs for two days, and I never did get my s’more.

By the way, when Katie suggested I use a safe word, she also told me I couldn’t abuse it.  I kept that in mind, until the end of my session.  I was tired.  I had been working so hard the whole time.  Pushing myself to my limits.  Feeling weak, but knowing I was strong.  The very last set of exercises he put me through was pushing the Man Sled down the ‘green’, and back.  He loaded it with 90 pounds, on top of it’s own heavy steel weight.  When I got back to the start, I immediately had to go into a plank for 45 seconds, and then do it all over again.  By the third set, I finally succumbed to my own pain and suffering, and yelled, “Nutella!  Marshmallow!!  NUTELLA AND MARSHMALLOW!!”.  And if you were wondering, he didn’t care.  I had to finish my last set.