Boy, You Got Rules!

I may or may not have written about this before, but it’s something that I deal with a lot.

When I first met Franz, we set some ground rules.  His were dumb… like no laughing, no joking, no talking, pay attention, listen, safety first.  All really ridiculous.

My rules, on the other hand, were extremely important, and much needed.  Franz’s rules for training Ally are as follows:

1. Just deal with me.

2. Understand that I WILL complain.  You can’t change that.

3.  No matter what, I am going to talk, and most likely try to make you laugh.

4. If my shirt is lifting up, you must tell me.  If I can’t move my hands, you must fix it for me.

5. If I have mascara running down my face, you must tell me, so I can clean it up and not look like a raccoon.

6. Know that I am going to pick my wedgies, and I don’t care who sees, or if you’re embarrassed by me.

7.  (last but not least) Warn me if I forgot to shave my armpits on upper body day.

 

I mean, seriously?  These aren’t hard, right?  Like, he can handle these.  It’s basically common courtesy and respect for the one you are training.  Right?

The other day he failed on one, and I left looking like I had been punched in the eyes. Listen, I don’t do my make up to go to training.  I work all day, and I have make up on so I don’t look like I’m sleeping, and at the end of the day I go to train.  Obviously when I go, my make up is still on, which just adds to the fabulousness of me.  Well, the other day, I sweat that shit right off.   It pooled under my eyes, and I failed to check my face in the mirror in my car when I left.  I proceeded to head to Target (fucking vortex), and did a whole ton of shopping for shit I didn’t know I needed, and when I left the store I FINALLY looked in the mirror.

There was a goddamn curly haired raccoon looking back at me.

Franz Failed.

 

P.S.  Writing this made me realize what an absolutely refined lady that I really am.

 

 

The Ten Worst Words I Could Hear

‘You have the rest of your life to work out’.

That’s what my boss said when we were talking about how much I hate Lower Body Murder Day and that I think I may have a hernia (more details on that later, when I have confirmation).

To elaborate, I had these bumps checked out by my doctor, but we aren’t sure if they are in fact hernias, and I am scheduled to see a surgeon.  I was talking to my boss, who is fit, athletic, and nutritionally smart.  He is my go to when I have dumb questions.  Anyways, we were chatting about these potential hernias (Yes, I know…HerniaSSSS. Two.) and he told me to take it easy at the gym.  Listen to my body.  Don’t let Franz push me to a point of no return because I don’t want to hurt myself.

Then he said it.

“You have the rest of your life to work out”.  Inside I thought, ‘OUCH.  You mean, my one work out tonight doesn’t count for forever?  You mean that I will still be doing this shit when I’m 90??’

I’m no dummy.  I know that tonights work out doesn’t count for forever.  I know that years from now, I’ll still struggle to complete some work outs and that I will push myself to new limits and new goals.  I know this… but I don’t like thinking about it.  I mean… compare it to hearing ‘You will be working for the rest of your life’.  Painful to hear, right?  That’s not exactly what he meant though, but it’s how I heard it.  What he meant was, I don’t need to feel like I HAVE to push myself to my limits RIGHT NOW, because if I get hurt, or hurt myself farther then I already have, then I won’t be able to do it long term.  Makes sense.

I proceeded to go to training, and Franz encouraged me and pushed me on a lower body work out that was concentrating on my midsection.  My abs (remember those 12 pack abs under my E.T. exterior??) were throbbing before I even left the gym.  I managed to complete 30 side planks on each side, 30 J-Curls, 60 lunges, and 54 squats among other things.  I didn’t cry, I almost barely complained, and I only talked about someday being in a full-body cast, once.

 

Proof Is In The Numbers

I’m at the gym on training day.  I’m doing my first exercise of the night- throwing a medicine ball down as hard as I can, then picking it up, throwing it forward, walking to it, and doing it all over again.  I hate this work out.  HATE THIS WORK OUT… but something changed on my last throw.  A woman working out nearby saw the medicine ball and said, ‘WOW!  Twenty pounds?!’.  Franz said, ‘YEP!’.  I sat, confused.  This isn’t normal?  Is that a lot of weight?  Apparently it is…

That’s what’s so funny about working out with Franz.  I am pushed to do things I wouldn’t do on my own, and sometimes, I don’t even realize how physically strong I am.

So, let’s go over a couple of the numbers from this particular work out day.  After my twenty pound medicine ball throwing, I did 10 reps-4 times, of pulling 135 pounds back in what I call the ‘Pull Back’.  Good enough name, right?  Wouldn’t it be lovely if I knew (or listened) to the real names??  In between reps, I did 10 push ups.  Kill me.  Next up, was planking, but I had to plank on one arm, while moving weights from one side of my body to the other, and then switch to the other arm.  In between reps, I pushed a 25 lb weight over my head, one arm at a time.  Fast forward a few more fancy moves, and my very last ‘challenge’ was holding 40 lb kettle bells in each hand (90 lbs!!  (Almost) Exactly what I’ve lost!) , and walking back and forth down the track, for 2 minutes.  Sounds like it might be easy… it’s not.

Numbers don’t lie.  I don’t know where I started… but holy crap I can do a lot more than I thought I could, now.

P.S.- I am writing this and my arms are shaking.  The next two days are gonna be rough.

P.P.S- Today I taught the little boy I nanny how to show his muscles (and grunt while doing it).  Clearly an important skill.

S T R U G G L I N G

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I’m sensitive.  Underneath the funny, sarcastic, fowl mouthed exterior, I am sensitive.  Sometimes I find these more serious Memes and my sensitive, sentimental side comes out. I think about where I have come from.  Ninety pounds ago, I thought I … Continue reading

Safe Word

So in my last entry, I wrote about how all I do is complain to Franz, and when it really hurts, he doesn’t believe me.  Well, after that blog came out, a loyal reader (Hey, Katie!) suggested that we come up with a safe word to use.  You know, the one word that I’m allowed to use to tell him that NO I’M DEAD SERIOUS, I’M DYING.

When I walked into training on that Wednesday, I proposed this idea to him, and he laughed.  Then we both threw out words to use… at the same time.  His was ‘Nutella’.  Mine was ‘Marshmallow’.  The first thing I thought was, I need a s’more.

After this, he proceeded to kick my ass, and I couldn’t use my legs for two days, and I never did get my s’more.

By the way, when Katie suggested I use a safe word, she also told me I couldn’t abuse it.  I kept that in mind, until the end of my session.  I was tired.  I had been working so hard the whole time.  Pushing myself to my limits.  Feeling weak, but knowing I was strong.  The very last set of exercises he put me through was pushing the Man Sled down the ‘green’, and back.  He loaded it with 90 pounds, on top of it’s own heavy steel weight.  When I got back to the start, I immediately had to go into a plank for 45 seconds, and then do it all over again.  By the third set, I finally succumbed to my own pain and suffering, and yelled, “Nutella!  Marshmallow!!  NUTELLA AND MARSHMALLOW!!”.  And if you were wondering, he didn’t care.  I had to finish my last set.