Before we go any further.

I feel like you should know something about me.

When I was 22 I was at a club drinking a fair amount. I like to dance and I’m not afraid to dance by myself. Truthfully I was never coordinated enough to “bump and grind” I was always grinding while someone was bumping. It was uncomfortable for all involved. In my defense I can bump and grind, just not with another human person.

So I have a solid buzz and some good music playing. I’m dancing alone, totally in my element when I see out of the corner of my eye a girl dancing very similar to my style. I am elated. I can’t believe my luck. I dance over to her, BEAMING the whole time. We are so insync that when I go to high five her, she reaches out at the same time. That’s when it happened. I looked into the girls eyes and discovered it wasn’t actually another person. It was me. I had just DANCED over to and HIGH FIVED a mirror.

Needless to say there is a moment of panic when I realize this. I stood there, frozen, hand on mirror. I look around horrified to see if anyone noticed. WHICH OF COURSE THEY DID. I’ll never forget the hot black guys face as we both stared, stunned. I looked over at my friend and she literally had to push me to stop this from happening.

Now I know there are layers of weird here. Why would I give someone a high five as a dance move? Why didn’t I immediately take my hand down once I noticed it was me. And, of course, the most glaringly obvious one: how come I didn’t notice it was me. I’m not going to lie. That one hurts.

I’m telling this stories for a few reasons. One if I ever sound too preachy about my parenting style, please remember that I have also confessed to high fiving myself in the mirror, so take everything I say with a grain of salt. And if you ever feel judged, don’t let it get to you. The person doing the judging has probably also danced up and high fived themselves in a mirror. Well, probably not, but they have probably let out a baby fart, thinking it would be a much softer, gentler fart and stunk up a room. Don’t let that fart mis-judger steal your sunshine! We are all in this parenting thing together and if people aren’t coming from a place of true helpfulness and love, then maybe they are just in a sad place and it has nothing to do with you. And as orginal bad-ass Eleanor Roosevelt once said, “no one can make you feel inferior without your consent.” This includes other moms. I haven’t experienced this a ton, mostly because my kids are young, but I can imagine mom-judging makes one feel pretty rotten. Please remember that someone elses opinion of you is none of your business. And if that doesn’t help, know that that stinky fartsmeller is probably just upset because of that time she lost control of her butthole.

As long as you love your children, you’re doing an amazing job.

trainer strikes again

I know this blog has become more about me and the trainers at my gym then my children but I promise I’m half-assing my parenting as much as my gym time.

This is the latest encounter with my gym nemesis:

Him: “Mam. Mam. MAAMMMM!!”

Me: Please god let there be another MAM. I don’t see anyone but maybe their just hiding under a weight bench.

He doesn’t give up and then touches my shoulder. I’m SCREWED.

Trainer: “Hi Mam. I just had to introduce myself.”

Me: “Hi. We’ve met.”

Him: “No way. I would never forget meeting you.”


Me: “No, we’ve met.”

*I fail to mention I have a blog post calling him a pushy needledick.*

Him: “WAIT! Did I train you?” Smiles Hugely.

Me: No. (but I’m glad that he could so proudly forget about someone he’s trained as he’s actively trying sell this exact service)

I explain that I don’t really have time to talk and basically come to the gym because there’s a drive thru Dunkin’ Doughnuts near by.

He ignores my statement completely and talks about training things. So I interrupt him and talk about mothering things. Like how important a drive thru Dunkin Doughnuts is to a parent: you don’t have to get out of the car, there are doughnuts and coffee. He tries to bring it back to training stuff & lock me down with a session tomorrow but I counter with my favorite doughnut: currently strawberry sprinkle. Though glazed will always hold a special place in heart.

Then the sneaky devil tries to use food as a way discuss nutrition. I guess maybe he was impressed with my doughnuts knowledge. It is vast. But, not today Satan. NOT TODAY. I can feel my rage for him increase as I think of some other woman getting the last US weekly or strawberry frosted doughnut. So I excuse myself and say that I can’t do personal training because I’m a mother. He’s asks “What does that even mean?” Honestly, I have no idea. I’m just spouting words to safely get to a treadmill that is centrally located near the magazines and TV.

Luckily, this bizarre statement has him stumped and I use this an opportunity to walk away, mumbling about how I’m a mom. Which still makes no sense BUT it does keep our conversation to under 2 minutes and I ended up with the doughnut of my dreams so this, my friends, how you win a conversation with a trainer.

To the personal trainers of the world: Enough.

Here’s the thing. I don’t want your life advice.  I don’t need you to tell me I could “lose a little of that weight” or how eating breakfast is important. I got that. I know that. I don’t care about that and I probably never will.

This is partially my fault. I forgot my headphones, which left me wide open. This trainer sensed my weakness and pounced. He opened with a highfive because that must be the first lesson they teach you in personal training school. Instead of Always Be Closing, it’s Always Be Highfiving. This trainer proceeded to look me over and ask me what my fitness goals were. I said just to maintain my weight and get away from my children. Appalled he asked “Don’t you want to lose that little bit of extra weight and tone up?” Um. No sir. I do not. I like a soft layer of fat. Also I prefer my “little bit of extra weight” to not be talked about by strangers. It’s kind of a social contract that the rest of the fucking world abides by.

He then talks about the importance of adding mass & eating breakfast. He goes on and on and then asks if I’m following. I say simply and honestly, “No.” but dead eyes and zero response does not deter him in the least. He continues to talk about how he can’t understand how people (me) are okay with just maintaining. Don’t I want to push myself and make the most of the time at the gym. I do not reply in fear that it will somehow continue the conversation but this is my response: No. I do not. Me and mediocrity: We’re friends. Old friends. We love each other. I don’t need a body that misrepresents who I am as a person. I like a body that says, “I’m trying. Just not that hard.” I want to enjoy my life and my time at the gym. I want to drop my kids off so I can walk/run, do leisurely squats, see how Oprah doings. I have goals. They just vary from yours.

So trainer, I get that you have a job and I respect the hustle. I let you talk. I let insult my gym work ethic, talk about my weight and reprehend me for not eating breakfast. And I don’t even care about that. What I DO care about is you did that for 7 minutes. This time is precious to me. I have children to ignore and an Oprah magazine to read. So if you must be a pushy needledick. Fine. Just do it quickly.


Second to the lord.

I go to a WOW gym because it’s cheap, has free babysitting & I have two children under 3. I go to the gym to talk to exactly no one. I am there to drop off my children, listen to a podcast, read a magazine and take a leisurely stroll on a treadmill. That’s it.

So today there was a woman working out with a trainer who was super loud, louder then the super loud techno music playing & the housewives podcast on my phone. I avoid him like the plague, as he’s immediately my enemy. He approaches the woman he’s training (two treadmills down) proud that he came over right as her ten minute jog was up. I witness this exchange:

Trainer: “I came back right when you were done. WHO’S THE BEST?!!

Woman (looking visibly uncomfortable and confused): “Ummm.. you are?”

Trainer: “No. THE LORD IS. I’m a distant second. Then everyone else.”

Woman: “Laughs uncomfortably. Looks around for support.”

Me: *Fuck no. Stares at phone like my life depends on it*

Trainer: *Sees uncomfortable laughter as encouragement and gets louder.* “I’m ONLY second to the LORD!!!” Then high fives woman.

I stare harder at my phone.

Trainer proceeds to yell/talk about how he’s second to lord to everyone and no one. Then it happens. We lock eyes. I know I’m doomed.  He immediately walks over and extends his hand in the air for a high five. Now, I have never EVER left another adult hangin. And I wouldn’t do it to this guy. But man did I want to.

After the worlds least enthusiastic high five, he continues to ramble on and I continue to avoid everyone. But I can’t stop thinking about this guys self esteem. He’s second TO THE LORD because he can guestimate 10 minutes? He’s so thrilled with himself that he’s HIGH FIVING strangers? I have mom days when I think I’m second only to Dina Lohan. If my kids eat too many sweets or watch too much TV I’m visualizing them explaining their childhood to Dr. Drew on whatever rehab show is on in 2030. “I had a pretty good childhood, until that day my mom let me eat 15 Rolos and watch 4 hours of Paw Patrol, that’s when I learned life is meaningless and the only answer is heroin.”

I’m not sure what the answer is? I’d be lying if I said I want to be like this guy. In fact I would like to formally rescind my high five next time I see him. But maybe the take away is somewhere in the middle. I mean we’re both lying to ourselves (he’s not second to the lord and I’m not Dina Lohan) but his lie is so kind to himself.  Maybe I should take a page from his book (not the whole book bc that book is mostly filled with crazy) and try to be a bit nicer to myself. So thank you, for this lesson you high fiving lunatic. And for re-affirming my no talking to anyone at the gym policy.