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.


“Please stop sending those to me…”

Said my husband.

I’m pretty transparent, right?  I’m honest and open with you, and all of my friends.  Deep down, I care about how I look, but when you’re at the gym you {almost} have no choice.  I mean, I don’t leave the house without makeup.  I have admitted it before, and I’ll tell you again; sometimes I wear makeup to the gym.  I’ve even been known, on multiple occasions, to wear fake lashes to the gym, too.  In fact, when my trainer sees them, he asks where my prom dress is… he’s a peach, isn’t he? All kidding aside, I love that he makes fun of it.   It’s funny to think I wear them.  In my defense, when I’m out all day, and then I go to the gym at night, my first thought isn’t, ‘Take off your make up”.

Now, when you’re at the gym, you don’t look good.  No, you don’t.  Stop arguing with me!  If you do look good, you’re not working hard enough.  If you leave without sweating, you better turn your ass around and try again!  Now, I am no different; I know, I know, you thought I would be able to pose for a glamour shot when leaving the gym, but I can’t.

The following are pictures I sent my husband while at the gym, when he asks how I’m doing.  Enjoy.

IMG_5310He told me he’d delete this one, immediately.

Pretty sure this is my ‘look of death’.

IMG_5318How do you THINK I’m doing?

IMG_5334Fake lash day!

Personally, I think this would make a badass iPad background.

IMG_5232Obviously, before I REALLY got into my workout. (lashes!!)

IMG_5264And finally, true transparency.  Self titled: The Aftermath.

And for the record?  The fake lashes have only almost fallen off once at the gym.  Almost.