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.

 

You Got A Friend In Me…

Or not.  (stick with me, this is lengthy, but worth it)

A few posts ago, I mentioned that when you lose weight, or change your lifestyle, it seems that so many other things change along with it.

For real.  I had no idea how losing weight, and changing my bad habits, would affect the people around me.  Most of the amazing people in my life understand that this is the best thing for me, and do their best to support me.  Some don’t.

I mean to an extent, I can understand why some people start to pull away.  When you’re used to going out to eat with someone, and having drinks, and talking about weight and how you wish you could lose some, and stuffing your face with crappy food because you wallow about your life together- it must be hard when someone in that relationship changes, and doesn’t do any of that anymore.

What doesn’t make sense to me, is that if you’re ‘good friends’ with someone, and you have shared some seriously intimate parts of your life with them, and you have supported each other through thick and thin, that that ‘good friend’ would disappear, instead of being there for you, when you decided to be the best version of yourself.

Nope.

For me and my friendship, it started out great.  This person was by my side every step of the way on this journey.  She would tell me that she would support me, and instead of drinking and going out to eat when we hung out, we could go walking, or get a coffee!  She was so supportive, caring, loving.  She even bought me a bunch of really helpful things for my weightless journey, including shaker bottles, and a journal, among other amazing items.  That sounds like the kind of person you would want in your corner, when you decide to change your life for the better, right?  That’s what I thought, too.

Apparently I’m wrong.  I’m still not quite sure what happened, or even why it happened.  I can’t seem to put my finger on one specific event that may have triggered the downfall of our relationship.  In fact, there wasn’t even a downfall.  It just stopped.  Everything STOPPED.  No more support.  No more encouragement.  No more spending time together.  Even our daily (all day, every day) texts stopped.  I mean, completely out of the blue.  Done.

Sometimes, I think about it and get really deep in my thoughts, and start beating myself up.  What if I hadn’t started to take care of myself?  What if I kept going out with her to bars, just like we have for years and years?  What if I didn’t change?  Would she still be by my side?  And then I have to remind myself that I am doing this for ME.  First and foremost, I needed to be healthy again.  I would do this all over, in a heartbeat, even knowing that I would lose one of the closest, most important people to me.

Maybe someday she will wander back into my life, and I will be able to put this behind me, and reconnect.  Maybe I’ll even find out what really happened and why I lost her in the first place.  Maybe… but if I don’t, I have to remind myself, that what’s happened, happened.  What’s done, is done.

I am healthy.  I am working on being happy.  If people don’t support that, then there is no space for them in my life.  In fact, even if I wasn’t on this journey, I wouldn’t be able to keep someone like that, around me.  No one should.

We live in a society where the number of Facebook ‘friends’, or Instagram followers you have, defines how… I don’t know, popular you are?  Maybe well liked?  I don’t know.  I just know that recently, in light of this loss of friendship, I have deleted many people from my Facebook friends list.  I am done pretending to be friends.  I want genuine, real, supportive, amazing, happy, positive people around me.  Period.

Was this entry a downer?  I hope not.  Writing it was therapeutic. I got this off my chest, and out of my head.  Everyone should be able to share their struggles. Everyone should feel supported when they need it most.  End of story.

Super Muscle Chick

My trainer now knows exactly when he will be written about.  It has become a thing during my work outs, to let him know that whatever happened will turn into a blog.  In fact, he knows the moments so well, that sometimes even he calls it (‘This is going to be a blog, isn’t it’ shaking his head).  This is a story about one of those times.

There have been many times when I’m working out, that I am pulling on weights with all my might, and my trainer will say something like, ‘Damn, girl, look at those arms!  You’re so strong.  Seriously, look at those muscles poppin’!  Obviously I don’t look.  All I see is fat bat wings, anyways.  But sometimes, on rare occasion, I finally see what he sees.

This is an actual text conversation between my trainer, and myself:

Me: ‘I was putting my hair up in a bun, and I looked at my arms and I was like… (insert muscle arm emoji and wide eyes emoji)’

Him:  ‘It’s a bird.  It’s a plane.  It’s Super Muscle Chick!!’

Me: ‘Ha, ok.. but yeah, I just wasn’t expecting to see that’

Him: ‘I’ve been trying to show you that for a month’

Me: ‘I don’t take compliments very well.  Clearly.’

Him: ‘Alright, so now we’re on the same page.  You’re a diesel muscle bound woman who eats toddlers around for breakfast’

Me: ‘Well I carry them around while eating my breakfast, so…’

Him: ‘Just as good’

Me: ‘Thanks for putting up with me.  You know I appreciate it.’ (Remember how I said I apologize and tell him how much I love him, after threatening his life? Yup.)

Him: ‘You’re welcome.  Some idiot has to do it.  Let that idiot be me.’

If you really dig deep, you can feel the love we have for each other.  I know it’s mutual.  I mean, if he didn’t love me, he wouldn’t be able to put up with my complete shit attitude at the gym, multiple times a week.

Last week, as we were finishing up ‘Lower Body Murder Day’, we were headed back to the front of the gym, and we were fighting.  Naturally.  It’s really what we do best, next to making each other laugh at the dumbest crap.  Anyways, here we are, walking to the front desk where new gym members are strolling in, and I’m fighting with my trainer.  Another trainer (who knows us, well) walked up and said, ‘Do you guys ever stop fighting?’  And we laughed, and laughed, and laughed…. ok, I laughed.  Then he said something to prove that I am really the problem.

Today, as Murder Day ended, I plopped my ass on a chair at my trainers desk, to continue bothering him, naturally.  All of a sudden, with a very serious looking face, he says ‘Hey, so we’re having a pull up contest, and I think you’re a great competitor….’ His voiced trailed off, and a shit eating grin appeared across his face.  Because, he’s an asshole.  (If you aren’t understanding his funny funny ha ha, go read ‘Wait, You’re Stronger Now.  Try This.’)  I immediately, and openly, picked up my phone and made a note about the conversation, so I could blog about it later on.

In other news, I feel like I need a grand reveal for this guy.  He deserves it, at this point.

Oh, Baby!

Oh, you thought my adventures stopped when I left the gym?  Well, you’d be wrong.  Let me tell you a little about my job.  I’m a nanny.

Yes, let that sink in.  This fowl mouthed, life threatening, insane person that you know and love as ‘Ally the Wunner’, is a nanny.

Somehow, I curb my bad behavior and terrible language at the door, and turn on the sweet baby tamer.  Really, I have taken care of children forever, and I think I’ve only accidentally dropped a bomb once (that I can remember).

Anyways, yeah so, while I nanny the future, dumb shit continues to happen to me.  Let me bring you into story time…

I’m out walking the baby, like I do every day, that I am with him.  We have the same route through his neighborhood, and we typically stop at the same points.  Mostly to make sure that he’s not chewing on a leaf (this has happened), or sleeping; Also to get some baby hugs and kisses, which I steal from him quite often.  So one day, we are walking through the neighborhood, and we stop in the shade of a tree on the side of the road.  I am just about to snuggle up to his face and give him some seriously annoying kisses, when this woman pulls up next to me in her Jeep.

‘Did you see the deer?’ she asks.

‘…huh? No…’ I say, while looking at her like she’s crazy.

‘It’s right over there, in that yard.  I watched it cross the street, and now it’s right there’.  She says this while pointing to the backyard of a house that we are standing LITERALLY right next to.

The more she moved her car, the more the deer stared in our general direction.  The woman began to creep her car forward (maybe trying to scare it away?), and the deer seemed to step closer.

At that point, I ‘NOPED’ the fuck right out of there.  All I could think and picture was a deer galloping towards me and the carriage full of precious cargo, and WHATTHEFUCKWOULDIDO? I actually pictured myself pushing the carriage toward a deer and me running in the opposite direction!  I mean, are you kidding?!  That would never happen!!!  We all know I can’t run… I mean, I would also never leave the baby in harm’s way… but for real… ME RUNNING?!

Anyways, for the rest of the walk, I spent my time texting everyone about this new ordeal, and looking back over my shoulder waiting for Bambi to strike.

 

Here’s another ‘funny’ about my time with the Little Man.

So, as I have established many, many times before, I am weak.  Sore, old, and weak.  It doesn’t seem to matter how much weight I lose, or how much I work out and strengthen my muscles… I’m weak.  I’d like to blame most of it on the back injury a few years ago (remember THOSE fun blog entries??).  I mean, when I sit down, the creaking and cracking bones can be heard across the house.  When I stand up, I seem to groan every single time, out of pure necessity.

Well, a few weeks ago, my little one year old nugget muffin began to moan, too.  Every time the kid stands up, he groans… just like me.  When he sits down, he sounds relieved…just like me.

At first I was mortified, because his Dad noticed and said, ‘HAHA! Is he making the same noises as you??’  Then it just became funny to watch this little boy act like an elderly man.  I mean, the fact that he copies me is hilarious, but the idea that he’s copying something so utterly ridiculous makes it even funnier.

Until I remember that he’s copying me….

FullSizeRender

‘Deer Face’, to protect the innocent.

I’m All About The Numbers

Ok, so, some people reading this blog have known me for a very long time, and could probably attest to the fact that I am NOT good at math.  I never picked up anything in math class very easily, and when I couldn’t understand something, I usually just let my brain do its thing… and wander some where else.  Like, ‘oh, you can’t do this? Ok. Let’s go on a swirly whirly ride into a daydream’.  This is why I failed at all my math classes.

So, now knowing this about me, I bet you’d be surprised to know that I have become focused- err… obsessed with numbers.  ‘What numbers could she possibly be talking about?’ you may ask.  That would be a very good question!  Nutrition Facts.

I’m not here to bore you with how I carefully read each label, which I do.  I’m also not here to tell you about how I surprise myself with learning how bad the foods are that I previously thought were healthy, which I also do.  No, I’m here to tell you how I sit, sometimes for hours, adding nutrition labels, measuring portions, and analyzing meals that I make at home.

This all started with Turkey Chili.  I made a huge batch.  Enough to feed me probably 10 meals.  While I cooked, I kept a notebook to the side, and jotted down the N.F.’s (this is how we will refer to Nutrition Facts, from here on out) for each and every ingredient.  If I used the whole can of tomatoes, I figured out the facts for the whole can, and wrote that down.  Calories, Fat, Carbohydrates, Sugar, Protein.  Once I had the entire list of ingredients and their N.T.’s, I added them all up.  This gave me the total numbers for my massive batch of Turkey Chili.  When the chili was done cooking, I carefully measured it out by serving size, and then divided those totals by the number of servings that it made.

Since then, I have done this for every single meal I make.  Turkey Chili, Turkey Meatballs,  Bean Salad, Chocolate Protein Balls, Cloud Bread, Cauliflower Pizza, Cauliflower ‘Fried Rice’, Overnight Oats, etc. etc.

Here’s where the obsession begins.  When I figure out the N.F.’s, I immediately start thinking about how I can cut down the calories/fat/carbohydrates… or whatever, by using different ingredients.  That’s when research happens.  My  best example is Overnight Oats.

I thought Overnight Oats would be a good breakfast for me to have, and would be a nice change of pace from a protein shake or eggs.  I used a recipe, adjusted certain things (like not using sugar, and instead, using Truvia), and made the stuff.  When I was finished, I added up the N.P.’s, and realized that it was an INSANE amount of carbohydrates and calories for a 4oz. portion.  Like I didn’t want to waste my time eating this!  Thus began two hours of researching how I could adjust the recipe.  I was adding, scribbling, and crossing things out in my notebook, and ultimately purchasing new food products off of Amazon.

Two days later (what up, Amazon Prime!), I was making my Overnight Oats again.  This time, however, I had managed to cut the calories by half, and the carbohydrates by a third.  Proud of myself doesn’t do this justice.  I was like a kid in a tasty oatmeal shop!

Since then, after I have perfected my recipes, I write down ingredients, brand names of products, and then finally- N.F.’s for each serving on a small index card.  I store these in a little box, tucked away, and I can pull them out anytime, and make the meal, without worrying about doing my math.  Perfection.

So, I’d like to take a moment to give a big shout out to all my math teachers- from Kindergarten to Senior Year.  You did it.  I like my math…  just don’t ask me to start doing any algebra.

IMG_5796

This was my latest creation.  My take on Texas Caviar.  This is one of the neatest written logs I have EVER done.  And yes, that’s one of three, of my handy dandy notebooks.

 

 

 

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)