Food, Food, Food

Recently, I wrote about how my ADD makes me stay up at night, and when I am up at night I think.  In my post, I talked about how I meal plan, and I spent time writing out my meals for the week, writing a shopping list, and making a list of inventory that I have, and need to use. (refer back to this: Why Don’t You Sleep?)

I wanted to show you guys what some of those meals look like, after they come to fruition.

This image shows nine meals:
1. Maple Chili Pork Chops with Garlic Bok Choy
2.  Avocado Tomato Grilled Chicken with Summer Veggies
3.  Garlic Chicken Breast with Sauteed Brussel Sprouts
4.  Sesame Zucchini ‘Noodles’ with Chicken and Carrots
5.  Grilled Honey Mustard Chicken and Grilled Zucchini
6.  Grilled Pork Chop with Steamed Broccolini
7.  Grilled Chicken Salad with Sauteed Onions, Cranberries, Goat Cheese, Walnuts, and a Citrus Vinaigrette
8.  Zucchini Tomato Onion Mozzarella Frittata with Bacon
9.  Low Sugar Sweet and Sour Turkey Meatballs with Riced Cauliflower

All of the meals I make I break down into nutrition facts for the entire meal, and then per portion.  Once I have the right recipe down, I add it into My Fitness Pal under the brand  ‘Allys Own’.



That Time I Ran

So, I decided I would actually attempt to run.  Not Wun… but run.  This takes a lot of courage for me to do, as you may know from previous posts, and attempts I’ve made.

I planned it out, so I would go to the local high school football field/track at night, and no one would have to watch me look like a moron.  Dark night sky=no one can see me.

Unfortunately for me, I guess I didn’t wait until it was late enough, and people were ALL over the track.  When I got there, there were runners, walkers, people strolling… and people pushing strollers.

I decided to just start out by walking.  The plan was to walk until I was comfortable enough to run.  I decided to take my ‘getting comfortable’ time to study the people who were running by me.

One man looked stiff.  I knew I felt stiff when I ran, so I watched him to see what NOT to do.  Another guy seemed to be gliding across the track, effortlessly.  I studied how his feet hit the ground, and how his body moved.

With all of this watching, studying, and observing, I felt like I was finally ready.  It only took FIVE laps around the track to get to this point.

I start out running, trying to pace myself to conserve my energy, so I can make it all the way around the track without stopping.  I get around the first turn, and I’m proud of myself, but I’m actually dying.  My lungs are already burning, and my legs feel stiff.  In fact, all I kept thinking was that my legs weren’t moving fast enough for my body, and at some point I would be falling on my face.  Never mind that, but I couldn’t help but think about how heavy my legs felt, slamming against the ground.

Second turn, and I’m half way there.  This is when I start talking to myself.
‘You can do this!’
‘You’re going to be so proud of yourself!!’
‘If you keep going, you can say that you did it without stopping!’
‘Don’t die!’
‘Keep moving your feet, and you won’t fall’
‘You don’t look as stupid as you think you do’
‘You are so damn athletic!  Look at you go!’

These words of affirmation for myself lasted a whole half of a side of the track.  I’m almost to the end.  I haven’t stopped.  I am pretty sure I’m actually dying.  I know that if I make it to the end, without stopping, I will have accomplished a serious victory in my world.

I near the end of the track, back to where I started running, in the first place.  I had made it. Some how, I made it.  I stop and grab my water.  I’m feeling successful, and incredibly athletic, I hobble to the benches and plop down.  I then proceeded to google what the distance is for one lap around a typical football field track… for science.

When I got home, I started explaining this entire adventure to Mike.  He just sat silently, and listened to me.  At one point, when I was talking about my observations of other runners, his face kind of twisted up, and if I’m not mistaken, I’m pretty sure he slightly rolled his eyes.

At the end of my story time, he looked at me and said, ‘You’re ridiculous.’

“Why?!” I asked
“Because you studied other runners…. what is wrong with you?” and then he laughed in my face.

*SIDE NOTE: The week after this running extravaganza, Mike and I were driving, and we saw a man running.  I made a comment about how he looked kind of uncomfortable.  Mike agreed, and mentioned that the man looked like he was landing hard on his feet all while aggressively kicking his legs back… and then proceeded to question if THAT’S what I look like, when I run.  Nope, I’m pretty sure I look like a toddler learning to walk for the first time.

So, I guess what I’m trying to say is, I’m not a runner.

90% sure that I took this PRIOR to running… when I was
still full of life, and hope, and promise.

Why Don’t You Sleep?

This is a question that many people ask me.  I am ALWAYS tired.  Like, always.  I’m always yawning, and dragging around, and even when I am at my most ‘awake’, I am dreaming of my bed.

But…why?  Why? Because I don’t sleep.  For those who don’t know me well, I have ADD.  My brain doesn’t quit.  It especially doesn’t quit, when I want it to quit.  In fact, it goes into overdrive.

I am famous for starting big tasks, late at night.  Who starts painting a room at 7:30 pm?  This girl.  Want chocolate chip cookies?  9:30 pm seems to be the best time for that to happen.  Oh, and in the morning?  I’m a fucking zombie.  This zombie can be zombie-like until 10:30/11 am, and still feel like it’s 5 am.

Anywho… last night, I was so tired.  I decided that I would crawl into bed, and try to turn my brain off.  Instead, I crawled into bed… with a notebook and a pen.  My head was swirling, and if I didn’t get what was IN it, OUT, then I knew I’d never sleep.

I sat for the next hour, meal planning dinners.  My meal planning also consists of making my shopping list, complete with an inventory of what I already have in the house.  For the entire hour, I planned out (what would end up being) 10 nights of dinners.  I made my shopping list- set up as if I was walking through the store, so I wouldn’t forget anything, and then I put it to the side, and closed my eyes.  It only took an hour and change before I fell asleep at 12:30 am.  Early for me.

I woke up, all bright eyed, and bushy tailed at 4:45 in the morning.  I was up until about 7:30 when I, all of a sudden, passed out.
I mean, I had to rest up for my big shopping trip and meal prep day… 

The first image is photographic evidence of me writing my list, in bed.  I took this picture while texting a friend, telling her that I think I really AM insane.
(the list made for the specific store was rewritten, later)

Second image is my chalkboard that lives in my kitchen, with all the meals planned.  I cut, marinated, labeled, and packaged meat for over an hour…

I do this every single time I go to the store.

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 ….


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.






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


Cha Cha Slide

Scene: Lower Body Murder Day at the gym.
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.