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.

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Wait, You’re Stronger Now. Try This.

Well, my faithful readers… do I have a good one for you.

Today was ‘Upper Body Murder’ day at the gym.  Before I even walked into the gym I was sweating.  It wasn’t even that hot out, but YOU try telling my body that!  Anyways, I walk into the gym, which, like usual, is a super wonderful humid warm space.  Why the hell don’t they pump the A.C. in a gym?  I really don’t get it.  Honestly, this part has nothing to do with my story, I just felt like letting you know that I work out in a sauna.  Ok, continue on.

So, my trainer and I enter the dungeon…err, the weight room, and we head to a set up with weights you can pull towards you in all sorts of directions, depending on how you set it up.  On the top of this unit there are handles so, those who are physically able, can do pull ups.  Pull ups are just another one of those things that I have never been able to do, and couldn’t ever see myself doing.

Well, like usual, my trainer thinks or assumes that I am much more fit/athletic/able to do things, only based on the fact that I’m now ‘lighter’.  So, he says, ‘Hold on, let me go get something.  You’re gonna try something’.  He walks back over to me, carrying a Plyo box (When I see these boxes, I cry.  Immediately.) and says, ‘Here, step up on this and grab those handles’.

‘Ummmm what?  Wait a fucking second… do you think I’m going to do a pull up???  You’re insane.  I hate you.  You DO know this will become a blog post, right?!?’  is what I said without filter or giving a shit about who was around me… but I stood up on the box, to appease him.  I grabbed the handles, pulled up, and immediately lost all strength in my arms and just ended up hanging there.  Just fucking hanging, off of a metal structure, in the middle of a weight room, in a hot and humid gym, with people watching me.  I looked at myself in the mirror and felt like I was looking at that poor kid in elementary school who couldn’t get across the monkey bars, and just hung there (that’d be me folks!).  That’s when I got down.

I’m not even quite sure WHAT was going through my trainers head, because he didn’t skip a beat, and he got up onto the Plyo Box.   He grabbed the handle bars, and said, ‘No, you’re supposed to do it like this‘, and proceeded to pull himself up.

Well, no shit, asshole.  I know what it’s supposed to look like.  That’s what I tried to do!

He gets down, and asks me to try again. Apparently for shits and giggles, he wants to see me suffer or fail or cry or fall or whatever.

I get back up, grab the bars (he pointed to new handles for me to hold, as if that would help me lift entire hot mess of a body), and pulled up as far as I could.  Quick image- I was basically just HANGING there.  My arms were ever so slightly bent.  Clearly I can’t do this.  I guess I proved my failure to my trainer, because he told me to get down, so I did the opposite and immediately started to swing my entire body in a circle, around the Plyo Box, while hanging from the bars above.  Cirque Du Soleil style.  Wheeee!!

No joke, he thought I was falling, and he started sweating because he was so scared… or was it the fucking humidity in the gym??

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This is a Plyo Box.  You can call it the Devil Box too, and we can make it a thing.

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Guys, look!!  It’s me!!!