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.



As If I Didn’t Already Know

I’m warming up at the gym.  I have a resistance band around my knees, and I am doing squats, then walking down the track, sideways, turning around going back, and doing it all over again.  I’m bent over, butt out, hands all dangly wangly- because I don’t know what the fuck to do with them.

‘I look stupid’, I say.

‘Well, you’re not an athlete, so you would think it was weird.  You don’t have an athletic stance’, he confidently responded.

Well shit, Franz.  Thanks for pointing out the obvious!  It’s almost as if I didn’t already know that I wasn’t athletic.  Oh, but I do.  I mean, holy crap, we can flash back to the multiple times I have written about maybe looking athletic, but not actually being athletic.  I’m well aware.

The confidence in me did something it would never have done before… it shot up.  I started to say to myself, ‘You can do this. You may think you look stupid, but no one else thinks you look stupid.  Keep Going.’  And I did- dangly wangly arms, and all.

Then I stopped mid-walk, grabbed my butt to soothe the muscle ache, and picked my wedge.  Ahh yes… everything is back to normal.



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.


Defying The Limits I Clearly Set For Myself

So, before we begin, go refresh your pretty little memories of the epic blog entry below.

Wait, You’re Stronger Now.  Try This.

Ok.  Was that fun?  Are you ready to see where this goes?

It’s Upper Body Murder day, and Franz has me starting on the rowing machine doing 500 meters, immediately making fun of me for going too slow (I do 500 meters in about 2.5 minutes..), and telling me all about how HARD the following work out will be.  You could literally see the look of pure evil and joy in his eyes.

The work out started out pretty normally. Heavy weight, me complaining, Franz rolling his eyes.  All very normal.

Normal, until he told me to come over to him.  He was standing under the dreaded bar.  The pull up bar.  I groaned. I said, out loud, ‘You seriously must be on crack if you think I’m going to do this.  Do you remember what happened the last time?  Remember the heart attack I gave you?  DO YOU WANT THAT TO HAPPEN AGAIN?!‘  The only other woman in the gym audibly laughed.  I am obviously spreading joy everywhere I go.

I begrudgingly walked over to him, and he was holding this massive rubber band loop that was attached to the bar above.

‘Put your foot in this’,  he said.

I lift my leg, and put my foot into the band.  He lets go and my leg immediately shoots out in front of me, 90 degrees.  I start dying laughing.  Franz hates me.

‘Put your foot down and keep your feet together’, he ordered.

I follow the instructions.

‘Now… pull yourself up.’, he said, like the delusional man he is.

I do.  I pull myself up.  The band allowed me some assistance on the way up, and some control on the way down.  Wait- it was supposed to control me on the way down, but we all know how awkward and fucked up I am.  I go down, and my legs go all wobbly and swing out in front of me.  This doesn’t happen once, or twice… it happens literally every time I try to go down.  Franz is getting annoyed.  I’m laughing, but I have officially done 10 chin-ups.

I will say, between the tears in my eyes from laughing, and the core strength to keep my legs controlled, I was kind of proud of myself.  Well, like half proud. You may be questioning why I was only half proud of myself.  Well, in my head, the band is a crutch.  This is a fake way to do chin-ups.  It has to be.  When I say this to Franz, he rolls his eyes, and tells me it’s not cheating, and points out the fact that I have now done 20 chin-ups.

BTW- In between each set, I had to do bench presses with 25 pound weights in each hand.  When I was done, I had to get that damn foot back into that damn rubber band…without accidentally kicking Franz in the damn face.

Each set of chin-ups I did, looked ridiculous.   I was constantly swearing under my breath, and my shirt was getting caught on the band, and E.T. was popping out.  It may or may not have been the most attractive thing I have ever had the pleasure of watching in the gym mirror.  Poor Franz had a front row seat to this shit show.

Below is a picture of what this exercise could look like, IF I was a normal person.  Thank God there isn’t an actual image of me attempting it.


P.S. In the end, I managed a total of 30 chin-ups.  We’ve come a l-o-n-g way, friends.


You know when you get some recognition about something you do, or who you are, and you’re surprised anyone noticed?  Like that time I had a friend of mine, who I used to work with, who told me that I made a huge impact on her.  She looked up to me.  WHAT?!    Mind blown.  I mean, you could even equate this to being recognized for doing a great job at work.  Kind of gives you a boost to keep on going, right?

Well, this blog does the same thing for me.  Every comment, ‘like’, or visit to my page, excites me.  Not because you guys are reading about me- but because I know I am going to make someone laugh, or think, or try harder, or dig deeper.

My last blog entry about Franz was read, and reblogged, by a fellow WordPress writer.  Her page is amazing.  Her descriptions and blogging about her trainers had me laughing so hard!  (How the hell did she convince them to take pictures and allow her to post them, dammit?!  I can’t even use Franz’s real name!)

Anyways, she reblogged my post, and it was because she totally GOT how I felt.  She understood why I need Franz (and all my past trainer victims) in my life.  It’s not because I don’t know how to do what I have learned.  It’s because my trainer is my motivator.  He is my friend (whether he likes it or not).  He’s my personal comedian, and my personal verbal punching bag.  The good thing is, he can handle me, and everything I throw at him.  I heart you Franz.

Check out Brooke on her page.  She may be my long lost twin.

via Yes,You Need A Personal Trainer/Coach.