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.

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We Shall Call Him Franz

So the last time I was writing about my trainer (poor soul), I mentioned that we should give him a name.  After many good ideas, I presented the list to him.  After quick deliberation, he chose a name, but I didn’t like his response, so I’m choosing one for him.  We will now call him Franz.

So, my latest story about Franz is that I really, officially think that he is trying to kill me.  During my last work out with him, after I was finished with most of my exercises and headed to the last one, he kept repeating, ‘Ooooh!  We have ten minutes left! You’re gonna have to do this for ten minutes!  You’re gonna hate me!’  Too late, Franz.  I already do.

The  last thing Franz wanted me to do was pick up a 60lb sand bag, and walk it down the track, and back.  When I got back to the beginning, I was to put the bag down, and pick up a kettle bell in each hand.  Each one weighed about 40lbs.  My first trip down the track with the bag I thought, “I used to carry this weight around on me every single day of my life”.  My first trip down the track with the kettle bells I thought “Holy shit, I used to carry THIS weight around on me every single day of my life”.

My OMG moments were rudely interrupted by Franz telling me to stand up straight.  Here’s the thing- When you were 85lbs heavier, you’re used to holding your body weight in a certain way.  Standing up straight to me, is actually leaning back in the normal world.  When Franz tried to get me to stand straight, it felt like I was leaning forward.  Add 60-80 pounds of weights, and I am like a hobbling old woman.  I don’t even know how any of this makes sense because currently, I feel like I am just leaning forward all the time.  I think I need a posture brace. That should work out well while I’m trying to hop, squat, and lift at the gym.

Anyways, I did this for ten whole minutes, just like Franz threatened.  When I was done, I dropped the weights, and put myself back in that happy place thinking, “I used to carry that.  I USED to.  Not anymore.”

 GET. OUT. AND. WUN.

‘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.

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’.