Getting All Dressed Up

I’m not a huge fan of salad.  Honestly, it has to have a lot going on for me to be interested (read: nuts, fruit, croutons, ice cream, candy, a big fat hamburger….) .  One thing that helps, is a really good dressing; Although really good dressing usually also means really unhealthy.

During this journey, I’ve been creative in making and finding recipes that FIT my new lifestyle.  Today, I’m sharing with you a SUPER easy FAT FREE dressing, that I found and love.

Mustard Lime Dressing

  • 1/4 C. Fresh Lime Juice
  • 2 TBL Honey
  • 2 TBL White Wine Vinegar
  • 2 TBL Dijon Mustard

Nutrition Facts (per 1 TBL) (makes ~12 TBL)

  • Cal 18
  • Fat 0
  • Net Carb 9.1
  • Fib .04
  • Sug 4.4
  • Pro .05

The cool thing about this recipe is that you can take it in all sorts of different directions with minimal change in Nutrition.  Try adding garlic, ginger, or using a different vinegar to change up the taste a little.  Look at me sounding all serious and stuff…

The picture below is a simple grilled chicken over arugula with grilled and raw apple slices.  Have you grilled apple?  Holy Moly.  I mean, grilled fruit is sooooo good, so apples HAD to be delicious.  They didn’t disappoint.  Over top, I drizzled the dressing, and this time I made it using Apple Cider Vinegar.  Yummy!

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‘That’s When You Know You’re A Real Weight Lifter’

“Oh no!  An injury?! Well, that’s how you know you’re a real weight lifter”.

That’s the text I received from my old trainer (who is soon to be my new trainer, AGAIN), when I told him that I wasn’t allowed to do to any sort of weight lifting for a while, because I hurt my shoulder.

It.  Sucks.  It’s like, when you’re finally on a roll and you are doing well and then CRASH! BOOM! BANG! life gets in the way.  Again.

So I hurt my shoulder doing a lift I had never done before, where the bar of weights is resting on the back of my neck, and shoulders.  It’s the only thing I can think of that would have pulled anything back there.  Two days after the work out I was sore, but that’s normal.  It was the next three days, and the following week after getting medication, that sucked so bad.

My doctor thought I had a pinched nerve… FUCK! NOT AGAIN! WHY ME??? (queue Nancy Kerrigan scream).  Upon further investigation, my new Physical Therapist (the lucky duck he is) decided that it was actually a severely pulled muscle in my shoulder, and it is now affecting my arm and neck strength.  Cool.

I have some exercises I get to do at home to try to ease the pain, and get myself back in working order.  I also have my super-cool-make-me-fall-asleep medication, to help with the awful pain.  I was really bummed out about not being able to weight train, but I will tell you one thing…  When the Physical Therapist said ‘Definitely NO SQUATS’, I almost got down on one knee, and proposed.

Newbie.

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.

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This shirt says the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

Out With The Old?

So, it’s been a few weeks since I’ve written, and really the only reason why, is because NOTHING funny has happened to me.  I go to the gym, I work, I come home.  I feel like I spend most of my time at the grocery store, or Target.  Sometimes I let myself get into a mundane routine, which can have its good parts, but it really just creates a little bubble around me.  The bubble always seems to end up popping in the most inconvenient way.  Like, I have NO control over what will change, or how it will change, or when it will change.

This bubble was no different.

It’s an ordinary Monday and I am at the gym, sweating it out to the WORST MUSIC EVER, on the treadmill.  I’m minding my own business, with my headphones on, and Netflix desperately trying to drown the noise of the 90’s pop blaring from the gym speakers.  All of a sudden, like the stealth ninja he is, my trainer sneaks up on me and props himself up on the treadmill to my left.  He says, ‘So… I have to talk to you.’  Immediately, I knew something was bad.  It was off.  I said, ‘Oh God, what?  What’s the bad news??’  He responds, ‘What?  Maybe its not bad news!’  to which I say, ‘Obviously it is…’

‘I’m leaving the gym’ he says.

No shit.  Bad news.  Seven years at this gym, and equally as many trainers.  This time I was super bummed though.  He seems to just get me.  He lets me be who I am, threatening his life and all, and he still puts up with me.  Yet, obviously he’s leaving the gym, and messing up my routine, because like usual, my perfect ‘going well please don’t change’ bubble, has burst.  Changes throw me for a loop.  I hate them.

Anyways, he then word vomits ‘Thursday is our last session together’.  Oh cool.  Ok, bye.

The next day I went for Upper Body Murder Day, and we worked out just as hard, if not harder, than we had before.  On Thursday I went for Lower Body Murder Day, and he basically tortured me.  I know that it was payback for what I’ve put him through.  We set up my next weeks training with a new (already don’t like him) trainer, and we hug goodbye.

Before I leave I say, ‘What the fuck… this sucks.  I’d pay you.  Under the table… just train me outside of here!’

I won’t hold my breath.

Medicine Ball Of Death

It’s no joke that my anger goes into overdrive when my trainer says, ‘Warm up and I’ll meet you on the green!’.

The green is the area of the weight room that has the plyo box.  Enough said.  No, but it also has the sled, the battle ropes, hand weights, and kettle bells, amongst other things that are trying to murder me.   We call it the green because the ground looks like it’s fake grass.  It’s honestly my personal hell.

I absolutely, 100%, HATE when he tells me to ‘meet him on the green’.  It has come to my realization that I hate it because I know I am weak when I work out over there.  I know that I lose my breath faster, and my throat starts to burn worse, and I am just plain old fucking miserable, when I’m there.  I am much more comfortable and accustomed to working out on the weight machines.  I guess that’s why he makes me work out on the green.  He knows I need to challenge myself.  He’s doing for me.  But… really?  Fuck that business.

Anyways, it’s upper body murder day, and I am on ‘the green’.  It’s the end of my work out, and I have already spent the better part of my 30 minutes pushing my arms and shoulders to their limits.  I have lifted weights in all sorts of ways, and I have done a pretty good job of NOT complaining, the whole time.  In fact, I barely complained when I hurt.  I pushed through it.  I have goals, dammit.  I’m not going to get there by whining.

That thought process quickly went out the window when I saw that he had the Medicine Ball Of Death in his hands, on ‘the green’.  It was the last part of my work out.  I would be doing three sets each, of four different movements.  Ten reps of lifting my arms over my head with 15 pound weights in each hand.  Five reps of lifting the same weights like a bird flapping it’s wings (that’s the actual technical term for this move, I’m pretty sure). Ten push ups (because he’s an asshole).  And finally, ten catches of the medicine ball, then lifting it over my head, and slamming it to the ground.  I make it through the first set of the first three movements, and then I struggle my ass off with the medicine ball.  Like, between each and every lift and slam, I am dying.  My arms hurt.  I have sweat in my eyes.  I am weak.  I am tired.  …and apparently, I’m making those oh so famous, Dumb Workout Faces.

He couldn’t stop laughing at me.  Very single catch of that ball, and grunt when I tried to lift it, and apparent face I made- he laughed.

I made it through, and finished all three sets, and by the third set, I was chucking the ball down on the ground with ease (mostly because I was picturing it being his face).

While we were walking back to the front of the gym, he turned to me and said, ‘That medicine ball episode should never have aired on TV.  You laughed more than you threw the ball.’  Uhh, yes.  Because laughing is how I keep from crying, my friend. And we all know we don’t need a crying client ‘on the green’.