Death Ring

I pulled into the parking lot, and I was scared.  Like, my heart was pounding, and I just kept repeating in my head ‘WHY did I do this to myself’, over and over again.

I got out of the car, found my friend, and apparently didn’t say ‘WHY did I do this to myself’ in my head, because she responded, ‘I don’t know, but I’m nervous, too!’

We open the door, walk up the stairs, and into the gym.  In front of us is a group of people stretching, men punching bags hanging from the ceiling, women seamlessly throwing medicine balls, and then taking glamour shots, and an empty boxing ring.  The Death Ring.

My friend looks at me, while holding her gym bag, and says, ‘Oh this?  This is empty.  I literally just brought it so I looked like I knew what I was doing’.  At that very moment, I realized I was going to have to take some serious mental notes for this ridiculous adventure I got us into, so that I could write some great blog entries.

After having our hands wrapped, this little firecracker of a blond woman comes bouncing over and moves eight freestanding punching bags to the middle of the floor.  Then she tells us to start doing some sideways running, around and around the line up of bags.  Next, we did long lunges.  After attempting to catch our breath, we jumped right into sideways running, going the other direction.  My legs felt like they were doing something wrong, and I was tripping over myself.  As if my friend knew what I was thinking, she turned to me and said, ‘It’s SO much harder this way!’.  Thank god I wasn’t the only one.  During our second round of long lunges, we both looked at each other and wondered if this was it.  Were we done yet?  Was class over?  Oh…. it’s not?  We haven’t started yet?  Cool.

Firecracker spent the next 55 minutes of this hour long class hopping from bag to bag, showing us how to hit, kick, punch, correctly.  Our arms hurt, our legs were tired, and I’m 99% sure I shouldn’t be jabbing my toes into the bag when I kick it.  I think I’m doing it wrong.

‘I NEED water!’
‘My pants are falling down’
‘I can’t breath!’
‘Fuck you, Franz!’

Those were just a few of the things that we screamed as we sat and murdered our punching bag.

After the 4,827 sit ups, 8,361 push ups, 10,736 punches and countless incorrect kicks, we looked a hot ass mess.  Our hands were sopping wet inside the borrowed gym gloves, and we desperately tried to just breath.  When we thought we were done being cardio-murdered, Firecracker told us to hop into the Death Ring.

Quick add-in: When told to go take our sweaty gloves off, my friend quickly smelled her hands, and said, ‘OH MY GOD, Don’t smell your hands.  They smell so gross’.  After saying that, she proceeded to sniff them again.  WHYYY???  ‘Why’d you do that??’ I asked with a face of pure disgust and shock on my face. ‘I don’t know!!’ she whimpered.

Also, Firecracker said that swearing is 100% acceptable here.  

            1. I think I found my true home.

            2. She doesn’t know the doors she just opened up for me.


(Ok, back to it.  We’re in the ring.)

At first, we thought our boxing dreams were coming true.  We were in a ring.  We were professional.  Time to show off our skills, that we learned 5 minutes ago.  But no.  While in the ring, we had to pair up, and basically do trust-sit-ups.  One person, dangerously dangling over the edge of the ring, while their partner held their feet in place.  Oh and we punched at the ropes.  We are such bad asses.

At the end of the class, my friend and I looked at each other.  Sweat dripping down our faces.  Pure exhaustion in our eyes.  The feeling of being survivors in our hearts.  As if we hadn’t just suffered through sixty minutes of pure hell, my friend turned to me and said something about signing up for MORE classes, when this session was over.  And somehow, I summoned the strength to agree with her.  11 more weeks to go.




A couple posts ago, I told you all about the dynamic of the relationship Franz and I have.

Over the time we have worked out together, we have shared lots of stories about high school, family, friends, and so much more.  We talk about how he was a part of the METCO program, and that I was friends with a lot of the METCO kids.  It’s a connection.  A weird one, but it’s still a connection.  We share stories about what we used to look like, or what we were like, back when we were younger.  We talk about Franz dating, and meeting people.  We talk about how I struggle with how I look now, and how hard it is to see what other people see.  He listens to me talk all about the weird crap that happens to my body when I work out, and lift a lot of weight.  Since we know so much about each other, it’s no surprise that when we start making fun of each other, we have some really good details to pick from.

The other day Franz was really on his game, and had a few good zingers.

We were talking about his experience in METCO, and I was telling him about how I would (sorry ma!) sneak my friends in on half days and we would hang out, and order pizza, when no one was home.  This some how turned into a conversation about how I looked in High School, and Franz whipped out this whopper of a ‘ha-ha’; ‘Wait, when did you get cute?  I thought you said you looked like a hippopotamus in high school’.  Never did I say such a thing… maybe I have actually thought that, but I would never say it.  Especially to him.  Franz said this as I hung from a bar, attempting to do pull-ups.  I started laughing so hard that I had tears in my eyes, and I lost all strength and concentration.  I was a mess.  That was the end of pull-ups.

Later on, I followed up on his jab with one of my own.   We were talking about how Franz took a (much) older woman out on a date to a new hot spot in town… Panera Bread.  I started thinking about all the women that Franz meets and takes for coffee.  Without really thinking, I said, ‘You’re a date-ho.  There are ho-hoes… but you’re a date-ho’.  Anyone who knows me, knows that I am LOUD.  My words echoed in the gym, and I knew that everyone (all three of us there) heard what I said.  Again… we both start laughing, and I started laughing so hard I couldn’t breath, which wasn’t helpful as I tried to push him on the sled across the green.

My recent favorite Franz Zinger was when I was at the end of an arm work out.  I looked at my forearms and noticed each and every vein popping out.  It was so gross.  I looked him dead in the eyes, and said, ‘Ugh… I look like Angelina Jolie!’

‘What?!’ he said.

‘Look at my arms!! My veins are popping out like the ones on Angelina’s hands!’.

‘Yeah!! You definitely look like Angelina Jolie… except without the lips… or the looks’.

Dead.  I started to cry laughing.  It was so dumb.  We both sat there laughing at each other.. and then he yelled at me to finish working out, like usual.


I will say, that if it weren’t for our sense of humor, and good relationship, we wouldn’t have lasted this long.  And to think that when we first met, he didn’t want me to talk when I worked out.  He had no clue what he was getting himself into.

And The Winner Is…

A week ago, or so, I posted an image of three shirts, on facebook.  I asked friends to choose which one they thought would be the best new addition to my gym shirt collection.


After some serious voting, and reasons why I should own whichever shirt they thought was best, I have a winner.

I have worn this shirt to training to see Franz, who took a picture of me in it (face excluded because who the fuck knows who he’d show it to), and then he laughed at me.  I also plan to wear it to my next adventure, which you will be hearing about VERY soon!

So, without further ado, DRUM ROLL PLEASE…..

IMG_1512I am (obviously):


Someone who likes the idea of being fit, but also really likes food.

See also: Semi-fit, kind of fit.


I’d like to thank each and every one of my friends who took the time to ‘vote’ on this very important decision.  I am proud to be able to say that I am wearing a shirt that my FGW fans chose for me! 😉

Get Out And Wun.


P.S. I still have the first shirt in my Amazon shopping cart…. just in case.


Franz has really been on a roll lately.  It could be his recent hot dates to Panera with ‘cougars’ that’s giving him these boosts of confidence, but when I come into the gym, he’s bouncing off the walls, ready to murder me by way of lifting weights.  On top of that, he’s seriously on his game with making fun of, and embarrassing me.

Over the last 10 months, Franz and I have really gotten to know each other well.  We’re like some seriously dysfunctional siblings who have a weird sense of humor, and fight/laugh like an old married couple.  When we make fun of each other, we each know that it’s out of love.  I respect Franz, and some where, deep down beneath the layers and layers of muscle, he respects me too.

Now, for story time.  One day, about a month or so back, I was working out with Franz, and I was people watching the whopping three other humans in the gym.  My old lady eyes were scrunched so I could attempt to see these people clearly, and Franz noticed me looking at them.  One of these said human beings, was of the male species.  Franz turned to me and said, ‘Oh, is that your type?’

‘Huh?’ I asked.

‘I see you staring at him… is that your type of guy?’

I replied with one of my witty remarks ‘Yep, I’m totally into a little bit of dad bod‘.

‘Well, he’s not a Dad… he’s like 22. Like, you could be his mom.’

So after that day, when Franz made me feel like an elderly female creep, I never looked into the poor ‘dad-bod-child’s eyes again.  Until I walked into the gym, yesterday.

Me.  Franz.  Dad-Bod-Child.  We are the only people in the gym.  I walk in, set my phone down, and take my jacket off.  Franz walks up to me, and without skipping a beat says, ‘I told ‘Dad-Bod-Child’ that you thought he was cute’.

Ummm….  wut.

I proceeded to scream at him, grab his chest and push him backwards.  WTF.  Why??

  1. Married.
  2. I’m old.
  3. Never.Ever.Said.He.Was.Cute.
  4. WHY?!

This set the stage for the rest of the work out.  I was furiously trying to shut him up, and also gather information at the same time.  I wanted to know why the hell he thought that was a good thing to tell this poor child that I thought he was cute, but I also didn’t want to hear him talk about it any more.  It was a weird place for me to be, in my head.

At the end of my work out, while I was pulling 75 pounds back in rows, is when Franz decided he should finish telling me about the conversation they had.

‘But wait!! You didn’t let me tell you about what he said, when I told him that you thought he was cute!’

‘Because I never ever ever said he was cute, and I really do not care, at all!’

‘Ok, shut up.  You definitely said he was cute.  Anyways, I told him you thought he was cute, and then I told him that you were super old, and he said, ‘Well, not really… I mean, I am 22′.’

Ok, so not only do I have a lying trainer who tells ‘Dad-Bod-Child’ that I think he’s cute, but then I have ‘Dad-Bod-Child’ who thinks that, at 22, he could …I don’t even know… ‘get with’ a 35 year old??

I think these Panera ‘cougar’ dates are really getting to Franz’s head.


RGF.  Resting Gym Face.

Franz actually requested that I call this entry “Resting Gym Bitch Face”, but it didn’t seem to roll off the old tongue as easily.

I make dumb faces in all aspects of my life.  When I take pictures of myself, I make dumb faces.  When I see people do dumb shit out in public, I make dumb faces.  When I am listening to my friends/family/Franz speak, I make dumb faces.

So, it’s no secret that I would make dumb faces when I am at the gym.  Oh god there are so many reasons as to why I would be making faces… One of which being- I’m listening to Franz.  Like, when he tells me over and over again to STARE at him while he demonstrates an exercise, even though I can see him in the mirror I am looking at.  That definitely calls for a ‘face’.  When I am struggling to lift weights, I make a face.  A very clear, ‘WHYYYYY MEEEEEE’ face.  And please, have no doubt in your mind when I tell you, that my best faces are when I am resting between sets.  When I am struggling to catch my breath, and not die.  Those are the best ‘faces’.  That’s when Franz will laugh at me.

Franz will not only laugh at me, but will follow up his deep belly laugh with a comment about my face.  His head will be back, while he laughs uncontrollably, and holds his stomach.  When he catches his breath, he will look at me and say, ‘You look so dumb.  You’re faces are stupid.’

Do you know what that is?  Love.

Yup!  That’s love.  He knows that I can’t be mad about what he says, because he knows that I know all about my dumb faces.  I know I look stupid.  Sometimes, I even catch my own face in the mirror, and I laugh at myself.  It’s hard not to.  I look ridiculous.

With that being said- I need this shirt.IMG_1277

Reality, For The Third Time

Franz has a funny way of bringing me back to reality when I am getting too hyped up.  Actually, I will say that he is the one who is always telling me not to talk bad about myself, to hang out with people who speak highly of me, and to LOOK at myself, so I can see my progress… However, when I do stop and look at myself, Franz will take the opportunity to make fun of me, and laugh at me for noticing my ever changing body.

During one of my last training sessions, Franz basically made fun of me the whole time (he’s allowed, I promise).  At the end, when I was tired, weak, sore, and my skin was completely flush, Franz had me lifting barbells above my head.  The absolute fear of them falling out of my weak sweaty hands, while they are being held up in the air, is totally real and justified.  The fact that every time we do these exercises, the weight goes up, makes it even scarier.  I inevitably complain about how heavy the weight is, and how I ‘can’t do it’, and then I always finish.  During one of these moments of me complaining about how weak I am, Franz said, ‘You know, the reason this is so hard, is because you aren’t athletic’.

That’s literally the third time I’ve written about him saying this to me.  Which only means that he’s said it wayyyyy more than the times I’ve written about it.

He continued this stellar train of thought with, ‘I mean, it’s not like you grew up doing anything athletic, so you wouldn’t be athletic now…’

I quickly stopped him and said, ‘Umm… I don’t know why you think you know everything about me and my life, but I actually did a lot when I was a kid!! I was in gymnastics, and figure skating, and karate, and dance, and soccer!’  This is just another time that Franz (who is mostly kidding with me) and others just assume that just because I was fat, also meant that I must have never done anything athletic a day in my life.  He couldn’t have been more wrong.  Kind of the same irrational thinking when people think that people who are over weight must all eat McDonald’s all day, and people who are skinny must much on lettuce.  All wrong.  All assumptions.

Once I had put Franz back in his place, he retorted with, ‘Oh, well then you must not have been very good’.  Well, you’re probably completely correct, Franz.  I never stuck with anything long enough to BE any good at it.. but I did it, non the less.

Anyways, after my emotional beat down by my trainer, he mentioned that he could teach me some CrossFit moves, but they would be ‘really difficult, so if you want to go join a CrossFit gym after I teach you, then you should know you’ll probably die’.

And with that confidence boost, we continued our session, and I went on my way, and we haven’t spoken about CrossFit again.


Well, today (posted late! Last weekend….) I turn(ed) 25.



Fine…. I turn 35.  I don’t know why that’s so damn hard for me to write.  Age never bothered me before, and you’d think that since I’m actually taking care of myself, and I’m healthy, that I should be proud of that number.  Meh… anyways, it’s (was) my birthday.

Last week, I asked Franz if he wanted to throw in a free training session for me, for my birthday.  While politely declining, he reminded me that for his birthday, I gave him a pack of gum.  In turn, I politely reminded him, that it was accompanied by a stellar birthday card about how we were celebrating the day that he came out of his moms lady bits.  Sometimes, you just gotta traumatize someone.

As I get older, there isn’t much I want for my birthday, although to be honest, the most badass birthday gift is coming today… new kitchen cabinets. WOOP! WOOP!  However, it’s always fun to see what people will come up with when they buy you shit.  Take Christmas, for example.  Kindly remind yourselves of the ‘LivePD’ shirt, weight lifting gloves, and yoga short shorts, that I received.  Want to know one of the best gifts I got lately?  (It was a holiday gift from my besticle, but it came closer to my birthday, so let’s just say it was a bday gift).  A five pound bag of CarbQuick.  UHHHH-MAZING.  Can you smell the low carb biscuits and pancakes, from there??

I do however, think that this year, I need to get creative and design some gifts for myself. For example, I would like a pad of paper that I can create my recipes on, instead of walking around with my notebook.  Each page would already be printed and ready with a space to write the kind of food I’m making, the ingredients, and the nutrition facts, so I can write them down, add them up, and figure out my serving size for each meal.  Oh…. god… they’d be so pretty…. I can see them now!

Also, I’d like to take the request of a FGW shirt, seriously.  Wouldn’t it be awesome to add a FGW shirt to my collection of gym shirts?  Like, a racerback tank top that has something like ‘#FGW’ on the front…. or like one fan said, ‘What Would Fat Girl Wunning Do?’.  Then the back can be completely covered in all the swears and dumb shit I say.  I’d wear that loud, and proud!!

Now that my mind is racing with all of these wonderfully amazing ideas (for myself), I will get back to waiting for cabinets, and trying to pretend that I’m not actually 35.