I am not the only one who trains—or has trained—with their wife for an extended period of time. I am also not the only one that would like to choke my wife from time to time while in the gym, either. My story is likely a story of many.

[Melissa, if you are reading this, please read it all the way through. Love you. Muah, xoxo.]

I have trained on and off with my wife for a very long time. She eventually got serious and even competed twice, years ago. She trained her ass off, trained heavy, and was a pretty damn good training partner. Then, life got in the way: stressful job, long commutes to and from work, kids and their shit, etc. (Kids are turds. I mean, you have a back-to-school night on a night I have to train? WTF?)

As life derailed my wife’s motivation, she still insisted on going to the gym. You would think that would be a good thing. Not really. Sometimes I felt as if I would be better off training by myself. Then I would remind myself that if Fat Girl (I capitalized it out of respect for her) doesn’t train, she will sit at home, eat like a normal person, and drink Bud Light like 17-year-olds drink trash can punch. I’m a bodybuilder; I can’t have a fatty for a wife. So I had little choice. I sucked it up and continued to train with her. The bitch is, I like her. She’s cool. I like to be around her. She was just annoying the shit out of me in the gym by not being the perfect training partner (she can be so selfish).

RECENT: Not Motivated? Unplug

My wife has heard me say over and over, like an annoying broken record, "I need you to bring something to table." By that I mean I sometimes would bust her balls—she doesn't really have balls, it's a figure of speech—for not unloading plates (it should be a team effort for both of us, not just me, to unload them), for incessantly checking her phone between sets while I am struggling to finish a set, for sitting with her legs crossed on a bench while I do a set (who sits with their legs crossed in a gym?), etc. I started to feel like I was riding her ass for everything. But, come on now. I need you to bring something to the table.

I would explain to her that I need something out of this deal, too. If I’m your training partner I don't want to pick you up after you had a long day at work or are in a bad mood — or both. I don't bring my work or personal shit to the gym; I check it at the door. Now, she doesn’t have the years of training under her belt that I do. I get that. But I still need something out of this deal. I need her to be attentive when I might need her for a set or just to be upbeat so that I can pull from her on those days where I might be mentally dragging ass.


We took eight weeks off after what was pretty much a train derailing from the tracks. I had to pull out of a contest prep at four weeks out, her mother was diagnosed with colorectal cancer and needed chemo, radiation, and surgery, a couple weeks later her friend was killed in a car accident, I ended up with all but one of the symptoms of congestive heart failure due to a fat burner, and I finally got shingles after all of this. I had enough and I pulled the plug. I needed time off and in true “good wife” fashion, she was going to support me taking time off by...not going to the gym and eating like a hog right along with me. She’s a good wife.

We came back to the gym two weeks ago and someone had replaced my wife with some crazy bitch that I don’t recognize. She all of a sudden is carrying my gym bag (that holds all of her shit, too, conveniently) from exercise to exercise, busting her ass during sets, not playing on her phone (I mean, checking to see if the kids are okay — eye roll), keeps her headphones on, and doesn’t talk. She is putting up weights she hasn’t ever moved before in her entire life and more than a few times I have pushed my weights up higher just so that there is at least some gap between her weights and mine. No, she isn’t benching 225 yet but she has been only maybe a 25-pound plate behind me on some back movements (okay, my back isn’t a strong point, damn) and one plate less on hack squats. And those are only two examples of many more that I would not like to admit.

Everything I have bitched about for years, she has all of a sudden changed. It has only been a couple of weeks, sure, but you have to understand that this has never happened before. It’s a good sign, right? Well, kind of.

I mean, I was starting to think, “Why you gotta be putting up those kinds of numbers?” and “How are you so strong coming off of a two-week hog fest?” Apparently, Bud Light is anabolic. Who knew?

I’m all fat-assing it and not liking my condition, as I went from ripped guy to, well, not-so-ripped-guy, in eight weeks. She’s still cute and, though fluffier, she still looks damn good. Why couldn’t she have gotten fatter like I did?

I came to the conclusion while driving home from the gym that I just HAVE to bitch about something; it’s a husband and wife thing, I think. No matter what she does right, I am going to find something that she does annoying. Thank God she likes me; I kinda like her, too. As husband and wife, I am fortunate that she even wants to go to the gym. Most husbands aren’t so lucky. Even better, she isn’t a gym freak and she isn’t caught up in all of the gym/bodybuilding bullshit. Maybe I should just quit riding her nuts and count my blessings. Maybe all of us who have a wife that wants to spend time with us at the gym should quit bitching about stupid shit.

Just kidding, I’ll keep bitching. Just Sayin’.

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