The People At The Gym

Every time I start at a new gym, I kind of assess the people who are members.  It has nothing to do with their ability, weight, age, etc.  It mainly has to do with if they can handle me, and my mouth, being in their space, while I work out.  I’d be lying if I said that I thought I was a pleasure to work out around.  I know I’m not.  I swear, make a scene, complain, huff..puff… I’m a mess.  So, I assess the people around me.

This new gym has kind of a strange clientele, when I’m there.  Mostly older people, on the cardio machines, and a few people, usually a little younger, on the weights.  Oh, and there seems to be some sort of child gym training session going on at the same time I am there…which seems wildly inconvenient since I have the mouth of a trucker.

While getting to know the gym, and assessing the people, Franz tries to keep me on my best behavior.  It really isn’t something he can control….but he attempts to do it anyways.  During his latest attempt to control me, I met another staff member, when he was walking by us, and decided to stop for some comedic relief.  I don’t know his name, so we will call him Bob.  Everyone knows a Bob, right?

Bob has heard me tell Franz to shut up, and heard me complain, and heard me whine, and watched me lift, and watched me struggle.  Yesterday, Bob walked up to Franz to make a little ‘ha-ha’ about me, and Franz took it upon himself to tell a story.  A story about how he thinks that I look like the Hulk.  Not the Hulk when he is fully muscular, green, and scary big.  More like the Bruce Banner turning into the Hulk part of his identity, where he is basically moaning and groaning and making insanely ugly faces.   Bob agrees with Franz, that yes, I sound like the Hulk, and then turns to me and says that I’m much too pretty to be the Hulk, and instead, I must be Wonder Woman.  Well, how P.C. of you, Bob.  Oh, and thanks Franz.  If I didn’t think I was ugly when working out before, I know I am now.

Besides Bob, I seem to entertain many other people who are on the cardio machines, while I am lifting weights.  From begging for my life when struggling to lift over my head as my arms shake, to telling Franz that I dream about killing him, I’m sure they have no idea what to think about us.  Yesterday, I was switching between doing ten pull-ups, and then down to a bar, that was about 6″ from the ground, where I would do push-ups, and back again.  I was on my last set of pull-ups, and I was struggling.  I did the whole ‘kick your foot up as if that will help you lift yourself’ move, and I almost kicked Franz in the face.  Right on queue, we both start dying laughing at each other, and can’t really catch our breath.  Somehow, I finish the pull-ups, and turn around to head down to the bar.  As I hop down, an older woman gets off the treadmill, and walks past Franz.  As she passed, she says ‘Oh!  Is she your girlfriend?’

Nervous laughter, ‘No, I’m her trainer…’, Franz responds.

Then he looks at me with the death stare.

‘People think I am your WEAK boyfriend, because of how you talk to me!’, he says.  I start laughing, because she didn’t say anything to me…. It wasn’t like she said, Oh, be nice to your boyfriend.  No, she was making sure that I wasn’t hurting his feelings.  This much taller, bigger, and stronger man.  THAT’S whose feelings she was worried about!!  Amazing.

Ladies and Gentlemen… I have done my job.


Oh, besides making a scene when lifting, or when accidentally punching Franz in the baby maker, or crying for help when I feel like I’m truly dying… I also had the entire gym looking at me when I screamed because I almost fell off the treadmill.

And on that note, we’re done 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.

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….


‘Deer Face’, to protect the innocent.

Redemption (Sort Of): The Volleyball Edition

Alrighty folks… we’re back to talking about volleyball, and this one just might surprise you.

For the first time in three seasons, my team (team Block Party in the house!!) might actually, possibly, hopefully, make it to the finals.  I mean, it’s definitely not due to anything that I have done.  Quite the contrary.  We have some serious players on our team.  Like for example, we have one player who just pops the ball into the air like a bullet.  He doesn’t even have to be looking at it.  He turns around, the ball is there, and BOOM! he has it over the net.  We have another player who is the shit at serving.  She seamlessly hits the ball over the net, every single time.  We have another player who just doesn’t give a fuck, and pops out of no where to open palm- slam the ball, sending it flying over the net.  She is also a badass server on our team, and has earned us plenty of pretty, pretty points. (what up Kirsi!)

Now, me on the other hand.. I can’t even look at the ball without it flying in the opposite direction.  Like, 4 times tonight, I hit the ball in a direction that I thought was towards the net, but instead went behind me and out of bounds.  Fuck me.  The ONLY thing I’m slightly good at is serving (and swearing).  I mean, I have to warm up a bit (During games, obviously.  Who actually practices?).  For example; The first ball I served tonight literally didn’t even make it to the first row of players on my own team.   Yup.  Warming up…

But then, the clouds parted and that miraculous light shined down on me (remember that light?? It’s when miracles and magic happen to me on the court).

Set the scene:  It’s game three out of four for the night.  We have won two (how?!), and we are on game point of this game.  Like, if we make a point- we fucking win.  It’s our turn to serve, and who’s in next?  That’s right, yours truly.  I walk out to the court, and hear my brother call behind me, ‘This is it, Ally! Game point! You got this!!’.  I’m honestly not quite sure where his confidence in me is coming from, because I have done everything to prove him otherwise.  Anyways, back to the game.  I’m standing on the back line.  I hold the ball in my hand.  I whack it with my fist, sending it soaring over the net and………… they drop it.

WE WON!  REDEMPTION!!  Fuck yeah!!

I still suck.


An Inside Peek…

I know all of you are wondering what I’m like at the gym.  Right? No? Oh, well you’re about to find out anyways.

Let me just start by saying that I’m pretty sure that when I walk into the weight room, the guys working out groan in frustration.  No joke.  When they see me coming, they know that the weight room will no longer be a quiet place for them to concentrate on what they’re doing.  Ally is here.

So, I never go into the weight room alone.  For me, it’s the equivalent of walking down the basement stairs when you were little, and being scared that the Boogey Monster would pop out at you.  I’m scared.  I know what to do, and how to do it, but I still don’t trust myself to actually DO anything in there, alone.  So, my lucky trainer gets to accompany me.  He hates it.  In fact, the other day he said to me “I think you were put in my life to teach me patience”.  Well sir, you’re welcome. 🙂

When I’m in the weight room, I am usually covered in sweat, struggling to catch my breath, and pushing myself super hard.  Sounds exactly like how it should be, right?  Ok… so let me also add that I swear constantly, threaten the life of my trainer, and have no problem whining and complaining every step of the way.   I know, you’re probably like, ‘WHAT??  Ally SWEARS??’  If you’re thinking that, then you have some reading to do.  Go back and start with my very first blog entry.  See you in a bit!! But yes, it’s true; My mouth has no filter, and you know what?  I don’t care.  It’s who I am.

99% of the time, when I leave the gym, I text my trainer and apologize for threatening his life.  He knows I won’t actually suffocate him, or punch him in the face.  He also knows  that I don’t really dream of ways to make him suffer, like he does to me.  Yet, I still say all of these things; but only when I’m lifting the weights, or pushing the sled, or throwing the medicine ball, or struggling to use the battle rope… FINE!.., or really just about anything I do there.  These things just seem to fall out of my mouth when I’m struggling to function.

Honestly, I think what drives these muscle men the craziest, is that I’m LOUD (Mom, can you believe it??).  Beyond the threats and swears, I grunt, scream, whine, and eventually collapse to the floor.  I really do think that the guys working out rejoice when my 30 minutes of torture end, and I leave.

If I’m not being incredibly annoying doing all of these things, then I’m very busy talking to my body.  Specifically my right arm.  Sometimes I can’t even get it to move.  I look at it and say, ‘Fuck you, bitch! Move!’ out loud.  No shame.  Oh, and my left leg??  That asshole decides to quit 15 minutes into my lower body workouts.  Cool.  Thanks a lot, body.

It’s not ALL bad though.  I have this interesting way of completely pissing off my trainer, and then making him laugh at me for whatever reason.  Usually it’s because I’m making some insane face (or so he says).  You know how some people have Resting Bitch Face?  I guess I have Insane Workout Face.  When he laughs, I laugh (and then he gets mad at me for laughing because it means I’m not working out hard enough).

So there it is, folks.  That’s an inside look at being in the gym, with me.  Anyone want to join me with my friend pass??