"Your snatch looks great!"
I'm lying on a treadmill. The weight bench is being used by a aging Russian boxer, and the floor felt too far away. I can hear my trainer complimenting me over my heartbeat, but just barely. He's right. They felt great, too. Everything just clicked. Every motion felt *right.* I know my wrists will be bruised later, but only just barely, and only because I faltered once or twice as I got tired. 30 snatches per arm made me feel tired, but also feel strong. Some exercises take longer than others to click, but when the do, the satisfaction is worth all previous frustration. I bask in that, supine on the treadmill, for a moment longer because I stand up for another 60 snatches.
The goblet squats ladder doesn't go so well. I have to stop and stretch. My knees don't come out far enough. I can feel the fatigue curving of my back. It's tough, but the bad kind of tough. The mental weakness instead of the physical.
And then, bells up cleans. My right arm clicks, even with the blisters forming almost immediately (but before the biggest rips open and my trainer decides it's time to move on). My left arm never gets it. The motion is wrong. My grip is off. I almost hit myself in the face repeatedly. It's not pretty. Worse, it's frustrating. I bite my lip to push my emotions aside. I don't like failing. I roll my eyes every time the bell falls against my wrist. I don't care that it hurts, just that it fell, try again, try again. We quit before the left arm gets more than one satisfactory clean in a row.
Chest presses. A lower weight than we've done in the past. And yet, two sets in, I quit. I left the dumbbells fall clumsily against my chest. "Nope," is all I say as I lie there in defeat.
That's what it is. Physically, I probably could have pushed through. My arms felt noodley, but instead of letting my arms fail, I let my mind fail.
Distancing mental discomfort from physical discomfort is a huge issue for me. It's why I panic 200ms in to 400m sprints. It's why I rage quit running 8 months ago. It runs the risk of a vicious infinite regress. I've briefly thought about it a number of times over the past few weeks. It's certainly not the only thing holding me back from whatever I'm trying to do, but it's not doing me any favors, and beyond acknowledging it and "nutting up," I'm not sure what to do about it. I know it doesn't do me any good to feel panicky when things get difficult in the gym. That's an obvious statement. But awareness isn't a solution.
In other news, I ran 4 out of the last 5 days. Never far, and always with my dog. We go until he gets tired, then we head home. In the grand scheme of things, it's nothing. But, it's a start.
This is me pretending to be wolverine. I used to walk around pretending I had adamantium claws all the time as a kid. Less often, now, but sometimes when I'm alone on a dark street, I think about how, if I were attacked, and had claws, I'd be okay.
So, yeah, I'm still acting like a dipshit for pictures, and still making excuses for not living up to my potential. But, I'm having fun doing it, whatever that's worth. And I'm started mentally mapping out training for June's Camp Pendleton run. We'll see how having expectations for myself goes this year.
I'm lying on a treadmill. The weight bench is being used by a aging Russian boxer, and the floor felt too far away. I can hear my trainer complimenting me over my heartbeat, but just barely. He's right. They felt great, too. Everything just clicked. Every motion felt *right.* I know my wrists will be bruised later, but only just barely, and only because I faltered once or twice as I got tired. 30 snatches per arm made me feel tired, but also feel strong. Some exercises take longer than others to click, but when the do, the satisfaction is worth all previous frustration. I bask in that, supine on the treadmill, for a moment longer because I stand up for another 60 snatches.
The goblet squats ladder doesn't go so well. I have to stop and stretch. My knees don't come out far enough. I can feel the fatigue curving of my back. It's tough, but the bad kind of tough. The mental weakness instead of the physical.
And then, bells up cleans. My right arm clicks, even with the blisters forming almost immediately (but before the biggest rips open and my trainer decides it's time to move on). My left arm never gets it. The motion is wrong. My grip is off. I almost hit myself in the face repeatedly. It's not pretty. Worse, it's frustrating. I bite my lip to push my emotions aside. I don't like failing. I roll my eyes every time the bell falls against my wrist. I don't care that it hurts, just that it fell, try again, try again. We quit before the left arm gets more than one satisfactory clean in a row.
Chest presses. A lower weight than we've done in the past. And yet, two sets in, I quit. I left the dumbbells fall clumsily against my chest. "Nope," is all I say as I lie there in defeat.
That's what it is. Physically, I probably could have pushed through. My arms felt noodley, but instead of letting my arms fail, I let my mind fail.
Distancing mental discomfort from physical discomfort is a huge issue for me. It's why I panic 200ms in to 400m sprints. It's why I rage quit running 8 months ago. It runs the risk of a vicious infinite regress. I've briefly thought about it a number of times over the past few weeks. It's certainly not the only thing holding me back from whatever I'm trying to do, but it's not doing me any favors, and beyond acknowledging it and "nutting up," I'm not sure what to do about it. I know it doesn't do me any good to feel panicky when things get difficult in the gym. That's an obvious statement. But awareness isn't a solution.
In other news, I ran 4 out of the last 5 days. Never far, and always with my dog. We go until he gets tired, then we head home. In the grand scheme of things, it's nothing. But, it's a start.
This is me pretending to be wolverine. I used to walk around pretending I had adamantium claws all the time as a kid. Less often, now, but sometimes when I'm alone on a dark street, I think about how, if I were attacked, and had claws, I'd be okay.
So, yeah, I'm still acting like a dipshit for pictures, and still making excuses for not living up to my potential. But, I'm having fun doing it, whatever that's worth. And I'm started mentally mapping out training for June's Camp Pendleton run. We'll see how having expectations for myself goes this year.
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