‘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.

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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.

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….

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‘Deer Face’, to protect the innocent.

Shirts With Sayings

I am all about gym clothes.  I always have been.  There is something to be said about lounging in a pair of yoga pants and a comfy top.  Did you see what I wrote?  Lounging around.

I’m going to take you on a wee journey through my experience buying a shirt, and then some self actualization.  The time frame for this story is prior to my recent weight loss; When I was still squishy, and padded, and could sit on my ass.

So, I’m in need of a new work out shirt.  I have some ideas of the shape that I want (something to hide the fat), and I know that I want it to be sleeveless.   Gotta show off them guns, am I right?!  I head to Old Navy (where you too can buy cheap shit and replace it next month), and walk straight to the work out section.  After perusing the many options, I end up picking a shirt with some dumb saying on it.  You know those shirts.  The ones that say stupid shit like, ‘Gym Hair, Don’t Care’, ‘Rest Later’, ‘Running Late Is My Cardio’.  You get the point.  It was stupid, like those.

I buy the shirt, and bring it home.  Now, fast forward to attempting to wear it.  It was a Monday, and I was getting ready for work.  I am a nanny, so I get the privilege of wearing gym clothes to work every day, so I pull on my yoga pants, and take my new shirt out of the drawer.  I put it on, and look in the mirror, and I think I am a fraud.  No, really.  I think the shirt said something like ‘Work It Out‘.  Now, I work for parents who are ridiculously healthy and athletic.  All I could think was, ‘I am going to walk into their house wearing a shirt that says ‘Work It Out’ in a size XXL, and look like a total fucking moron’.

So, I took the shirt off, and sold it online.  That was the end of it.

still don’t think I could wear a shirt that says anything like that, even though I really do work my ass off.  There IS however, ONE shirt that I found that would be absolutely perfect for me (and my trainer 100% agrees).  #buyitforme #amazonprime

I have actually said these words, many many times.

I have actually said these words, many many times.

 

In my search for the correct image of the shirt that I want, I came across a few with sayings that were just too ridiculous not to share.

  • I Work Out Because I’m Ugly
  • I Do It For The Pizza
  • Cardio Is Hardio
  • Exercise? I Thought You Said Extra Fries
  • I Work Out Because Punching People Is Frowned Upon (ok, I actually like, and secretly want, this one)

Flaws

Ok, we all have flaws.  There isn’t one person who is ‘perfect’.  I mean, what is perfect, anyways?  I also think that we can all be our own worst critics.  Am I right? Or is that just  me?  For as long as I can remember, I have looked in the mirror, and seen someone who I thought had pretty eyes, or (on a good day, and after YEARS of hating it) had pretty hair.  I have never looked in the mirror and thought, “You look SO good” or “You’re so pretty!”, despite what people try to tell me that THEY see.  Anyways, the point is, I never looked at myself without seeing all my flaws.  I look in the mirror and I pick apart my face, my neck, the way my shirt fits, how my pants are tight and what the hell am I going to do when I am out to dinner and I can’t breath in them?!  (that’s a real life problem)

I thought as I lost weight, that I would see clearly when I looked into the mirror (I can see clearly now, the fat is gone….).  Instead, I still see the Fatty Ally.  I know in reality I look better, and I see the number on the scale, but to me, I feel like I look as heavy as I was before.  #bodydysmorphia

I currently wear a size jean that I haven’t seen since High School, and I still look at my rolls.  Isn’t that crazy?  65 lbs lighter, and all I see are the same bulging bits of fat, that I did before.  What’s really incredible, is that when OTHER people see my pictures, they are astonished with my accomplishments, and they don’t see my flaws, at all.  At least SOMEONE can see the difference.

Every once in a while, something will pop out and remind me that, ‘yes, you did lose a shit ton of weight, and you ARE different’.  The latest being (are you ready for this?) Crossing.My.Legs.  Like, I cross my legs, and it’s not uncomfortable!!  Only the heavy can appreciate and understand that Non Scale Victory.  How do I explain the next example… When I fold my laundry, I look at my shirts, pants, really anything, and I think, that’s so small!  I have to remind myself that IT FITS ME.

I know that loving who I am comes with time.   Seeing who I am now, will come with time as well.  I know this.  While I wait for that to happen, I will continue on this journey, and work my ass off.

Keep on wunning!

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Clearly, I document EVERYTHING, but this was totally worth it.

 

I Might Be Thinner, But I Still Got Issues

You know, there’s something to be said about being chunky, and squishy, and padded.  Since this is the first time I have lost a significant amount of weight, this is also the first time that I’m realizing that there are parts of getting ‘skinny’ that kind of suck.

Let me take you through a couple of my observations.

  • My butt is so boney.  Like seriously… if I sit on a wooden chair, or bench, or the floor… I can feel my bones.  I never had an ass to begin with, but now that I have less of ME, there’s way less of IT.  #gotnojunkinthetrunk
  • Is it a thing to have a long tailbone?  If it is, I’m pretty sure I have that.  I mean, why wouldn’t I?  If it’s weird or annoying, it will happen to me!  But for real…  I can feel that sucker when I’m sitting down.  Like I can’t lean back because my fucking tail is in the way.  WTF.  #notlikeacutekitten
  • I know this is going to sound really dumb, but I have no clothes.  For real, I sold 99% of what I owned (if you haven’t checked it out already, go visit my Poshmark Closet! Ally’s Closet).   I used to have SO MUCH CLOTHING, and of course, I never thought I had anything to wear; But now I REALLY have nothing to wear.  I probably have 2 nice shirts.  Which is all well and good because lucky for me, I can wear yoga pants and gym shirts to work on a regular basis.  Praise to the Yoga Pant!  #sendmegiftcards

Sometimes, I take you guys on a wild ride to my serious side.  This is one of those times.  Losing weight, while shitty because I can’t even sit comfortably anymore, has been the most amazing journey of my life.  In a future entry, I delve into this more, but for now, I will give you a fact that I have NEVER written out before in.my.life.

My BMI has drastically changed.  I know, I know.  You’re thinking, “Well, Yeah!!  You lost a shit ton of weight”, and you’d be correct.  Sometimes seeing it on paper makes it a little more real.  Now, before I talk about my BMI, I want to take a moment and say that everyone looks incredibly different at different weights.  I see pictures of people, and they look way thinner than me, and they weigh a lot more.  Most likely, because I was born with the shit end of the stick genetics, I look heavier, because I’m short.  I also have SLS… Short Leg Syndrome.  It’s real.  I swear.  I made it up, myself.  But anyways, that all effects how my weight has always looked on my frame.

In January of 2017, my BMI was nicely placed high up in the “Severe Obesity” section.  Awe.. that feels so nice to write.  Everyone wants to say they are severely obese… right?  Since January, I skipped my fat ass (not really, we covered that) right over “Class 2 Obesity,” and straight into “Class One Obesity”.  Currently I am hovering over the line of just being “Overweight”.  And you know what?  I WILL FUCKING TAKE IT!  I don’t even care that the chart says I’m overweight.  Just to be in that section is an outstanding achievement, and anyone who has gone on this type of journey will agree with me.  Promise.

I’d love to hear about some of your challenges from losing weight.  Everyone knows it’s not all perfect, and happy, and wonderful.  It may look like it on the outside, but on the inside, someones bones are giving them a pain in the ass.  😉