Clarity comes from strange places

My moment of clarity came not too long after I woke up this morning and I saw a video my friend Lisa posted.  A supposed "female fitness motivation" video.  My response was swift and violent.  With the exception of DLB, every woman in it appeared to be trying out for a staring role in a low budget porn.  Fuck that shit.  That is not at all what I am into.  Working out in a Victoria's Secret add two size bra?  Even in a photo shoot scenario that is just bullshit.   Thanks but no.   I'll click on over to Lift Big Eat Big and check out women that move more weight than I do.  Now that is motivating.  Someone who weighs ten pounds more than I and squats double?  Now you have my attention.  I want to do THAT.

Maybe it was just the video.  Or the video and all my introspection leading up to last night's blog.  Or some epiphany that happened laying in bed until 10:30 am because Squishy was using me as a pillow and I couldn't disrupt his beauty sleep.  But no matter what it was, I know what I need to do.  And that is focus on training and being strong.  Sure, the random pictures of "fitness models" that I come across will be my nemesis on occasion like the waif fashion models are for so many but I can accept that.

The concept of diet is being replaced with the concept of nutrition.  What do I need to eat to support my training goals?  I know the foods my body reacts poorly to - pasta, bread, anything starchy, sugar, fruit.  Which leaves protein, fat and that weird green shit that people seem to like.  Simple enough right?  Keep the portions in line and I can easily drop that 10 pounds in a few weeks with the workouts I have been doing.  

Right now I have a three day plan which I am loving and will stick with until my Vegas trip at the end of March.  Then I will switch to a four day plan that I have ready to go.  Either way I have flexibility on lifting days - a few in a row, every other, rest day can go anywhere it is needed.  Logical and easy.  

Today I also realized my bench and overhead press are back to where they were pre-shoulder injury.  My bench is actually better as I can push out more sets/reps at the same weight.  Now the real work begins - the slow and steady to far bigger numbers.  As long as each workout gets me another rep or 5 more pounds I will be satisfied.  

I haven't been this at peace and excited to train again in awhile.  Too bad tomorrow is a rest day.

To My Previous Trainers....

Thank you.

I've worked with a few people over the past five years and not one I regret.  Each taught me something different, a lesson to take forth in my fitness journey.  I've been spending a lot of time these last few months trying to find my way - what is the right approach?  the right goal?  what really matters? do I want to compete in any way?  or is stress relief the purpose?  And most importantly, does it make me happy?

Sully taught about about dealing with my imbalances, broken parts and the importance of mobility work.  He also introduced me to ART (active release therapy) which is at least 75% responsible for keeping my parts working when they don't want to.   Every time something acts up I go back to these basics.  Of course the actual movements have changed over the years has things have healed, imbalances have gotten better and new injuries have happened but these basics keep me lifting.

Tres had a tough job - getting my diet resistant ass in a blinged out bikini on a stage.  As someone hat didn't crack 100 pounds to my mid 20's diet was not something I was familiar with.  Neither was the early 30's weight gain but that is for later in the blog.   I learned how my body reacted to diet changes.  I learned just as much about lifting - intensity, ordering exercises, selecting exercises and pushing myself in different ways.  I now know that if I lift less weight or hit few reps, it doesn't mean the world is ending, it was just a day and move on.

LA made me think.   I never put any thought into how everything impacts everything else - life, work, workouts, nutrition, etc.  Whether we want to admit it or not, everyone lets one thing effect the other.  I always thought/wanted to compartmentalize and was forced to realize I didn't do a very good job.  Thinking about all facets of life in relation to each other wasn't easy at first but now I do it.  Sure I still have a shitty day and go shove a cheeseburger in my face but at least I see the relationship and accept it.  

Teena and Scott at Crossfit renewed my lost love for barbell work and handstands.  A funny combo I know but it is what it is.  My squat depth improved.  I started doing presses again and have no clue why I stopped.  I realized rowing is not a bad form of cardio.   I also realized that one of the biggest values of my workouts was they were my personal time and that the group setting is not for me.  I like my music and to just lift without worries about others or time constraints or running or burpees.  Barbell work is once again the foundation of every workout I do and always will be.

What I still don't know is what end result I am after.

I last competed in figure in August 2010 and did not like the way I looked.  I was skinny.  Scrawny even.  The exact look I spent so much of my life hating.  This time I dieted to get it as opposed to shoving in enough food for ten people and not being able to gain weight.  I stayed within 15 pounds of that for a year while trying to put on muscle then gained a good bit of weight in various forms in the fall 2011 and winter 2012.  Then I thought I would diet down to compete again.  I started the diet.  I made it a few weeks.  I cheated.  A lot.  I had a meltdown.  I ate a few burgers.  Drank a lot of wine.   I eventually said FUCK THIS and that is when I tried Crossfit.   After I realized that wasn't my thing I went into mass gain mode.  I lifted and ate and lifted and ate and lifted and ate.  I did nothing that looked like cardio.  I fought a shoulder injury.  I pushed.  I spent a fortune on ART.  I grew.  Guys I haven't seen in months notice and comment about my back being bigger.  I am finally not scrawny, not skinny, I have a lot of hard fought for muscle mass.  I love working out again.

Part of me is ok with the extra fat this process put on.  Dressed properly all anyone notices is my ghetto booty and boobs anyway.  Who cares if my stomach is flat?   But I also realize I am pushing what I feel is acceptable appearance wise.  Another part of me wants to lean out - see the true results of all this hard work.  But then I diet for a week, look down at my arm at the wrong angle and freak the fuck out because it looks scrawny.  It's not.  Trust me.  But that panic is still there.  I'm not even thinking about stepping on stage at this point.  Just leaning out.  Maybe 20 pounds?  Maybe less?  Maybe more?   Just get the stomach close to flat.  Shoot for this look I have in my mind that isn't really quantifiable.  Lean out, build up again a little smarter this time.   Then life happens.  Like this week.  The perfect storm of drama, bullshit and frustration ending with my last 3 meals being fried chicken, cheeseburgers and chinese food.  There is a beer next to me.

Somehow I need to get myself to buy in to leaning out.  It isn't so bad.  Losing 10 pounds won't kill me or make me skinny.   I should be able to do that.  Then take it 5 pounds at a time.   Mentally I think I have a number in my mind of a happy place - the proverbial middle ground between stage weight and where I am.   Bikini ready.  Muscles intact.  Now to get the brain on board.   Easier said than done.

The problem with blogging....

In order to blog, one must be able to type.  In order to type, one needs two functioning hands.  Ok, well you can type with 3 fingers and a thumb on the other hand as I recently have witnessed at work but really, that shit ain't efficient.  After spraining my wrist just over two weeks ago.  I couldn't type.  So no blogging.  I even took just over a week off from the gym.  It sucked.

I lifted Sunday, Tuesday and Thursday this week - easing back in slow to not piss my wrist off.  I was pretty successful until Thursday when I couldn't deadlift after squatting pissed it off.  I guess I should have thought of that whole bending back thing before I started and thrown someone off a leg press.

The week was pretty uneventful.  Sunday I lifted at 6:30 am after getting up at 4:15 am to go to the airport.  That was not cool.  The empty gym was awesome but I didn't even have the energy at that time in the morning to ask the other dude lifting why he had to be on the rack next to me, why not leave an empty rack in the middle or why he couldn't stop staring.  In reality I should have snapped on him but yea, it was 6:30 am and I was lucky to be upright and able to add the plates up.

Tuesday I went to the Y.  I do not like lifting there but I wanted to get it over with early and didn't want to deal with the crowds.  The vibe there sucks.  There was only one other person really lifting and I know this because I had to keep snapping at the same dude to re-rack his weight.   But the really annoying part was the jackassery exhibited by the women in the place.  Ladies, doing 4 variations of leg lifts and donkey kicks for an hour will not fix your flat ass.  I don't care what magazine you read it in.  You look stupid and sound stupider having this conversation loud enough the whole room can hear it.   The Y is staying on emergency use only status.

Thursday was a kind of surreal day at the gym.  I get there on the early side and 2 of the 4 racks are open.  The other two are being used properly.   I was happy to have a rack, in the corner, far away from the soon to happen stampede of zumba women trying to get an inner thigh machine or sit-up machine.   And there is a big ass bowl of chalk.  Yes chalk.  That shit that could have helped me not sprain my wrist.  Same shit I get yelled at for bringing in.  Interesting.  It was actually a nice change of pace to have people that knew what they were doing around me for once.

I also started dieting this week which apparently has coincided with Girl Scout Cookie Season.   Nothing good can come of this.  Every store I went to today had the sugar crack out front.  Thin Mints by the case.   So yummy.  So good with coffee.  So not happening on a low carb diet.   They ask and ask and ask.  I'm not buying.  Anyway, I already have a dealer.  I need supplies for my refeed.

Kelly made me!

Yep, Kelly made my ass go to the gym from 2,400 or so miles away.  Somehow she managed to guilt me into it because she needed a blog post.  Fine.  Here's your blog post.

Wanna know why I think staying home on my ass is a better idea?

I don't want to deal with people after work.  I use more than my daily allotment of indoor voice and public manners by noon.  The afternoons are somewhat sketchy and by the drive home I really wish I had that go-go-gadget arm coming out of the sunroof of my Jeep to move morons out of my way.   So what's the problem?  The problems are actually quite simple.

1.  My job bores me.  The highlight of my day is walking around the office checking thermostats because some selfish twat thinks the emails instructing us to leave them at 72 does not apply to her and therefore I find myself sweating in my seat.  Bullshit, I agree. But sadly, no one where I work gets fired for blatantly disregarding instructions so I go off, I change them back, repeat.  At least 3 times a day.

2.  Hills.   Uh?  What?  Yes.  I said hills.  You know, those things you go up and down while you are driving?  There are A LOT of them out here and they seem to be very confusing.  I get that the CA school system suck hairy balls but give me a break.   You press the gas to go up.  You let your foot off the gas (maybe) and go down.   Oh hell no that is too simple.  Its more like this: somehow your car magically gets to the top of the hell 30 mph under the speed limit then you stand on the brake all the way down.  Why?  I don't know why.   What I do know is my 14 mile commute takes at least 45 minutes.   When I work nights, I can do it in 20.  Without speeding.

So by the time I get home I want to sit on my couch with a bully and bottle of wine.  People can go to hell.  I like bullies better.

But I went.  And I knew when I walked in, I was gonna get more annoyed.  It was hot.  And crowded. I head off to the back corner to row.  And both t-bars are being used.  Sigh.  Every squat rack has a body in it.  One is being used, the other two I'll get to.   I toss 16 forty-five pounds off a leg press and warm up waiting to row.  About 5 minutes later, the guys walk way and I go row.  Then I finish rowing.  And I want to barbell row so I need a rack.  Now.  Problem is there are two douche bags of the non-Marine variety talking like junior high girls and did one set of super fast shrugs this whole time in the other two racks.

The following conversation then takes place:

Me: Are one of you almost done, I'd like to use the rack?
DB 1: Do we look done?
Me: Well, it looks like all you are doing is running your mouth.

I then clean DB 2's ridiculous 70 pounds and drop it on DB 1's rack then grabbed an empty bar. Sadly all that drama was for naught as my shoulder didn't really want to stay retracted so I could row.   I did a few reps and walked off.  Douche bags were still hanging in the rack when I left 45 minutes later.

I then got to strip weight off of every single machine I wanted to use.  I make very pretty piles on the floor because I sure as fuck ain't re-racking weights all night.  It was an otherwise uneventful evening.  No particularly goofy looking people.  No fools needing a bench to work jerk off muscles.   Nothing really.

Oh, except that jackass that started doing kipping pull ups in the cage I was rowing in.  Thinking next time I should yank his sweats off, you know, to get his attention and tell him I will beat his ass if he kicks me.

Paige Fieldhouse - gym or comedy club?

It's been a while since I blogged on a regular basis - the CrossFit Chronicles to be exact and that ended like six months ago.  I miss writing and now that I'm lifting on base again, there is way too much hilarity to keep it all to myself.

After CrossFit I went back to lifting on base for awhile but thought I wanted to go lift straight from work.  Thought being the key word.   So I joined the Y.  It's on my way home, never was busy at 4:15 and it worked just fine for awhile.  But it wasn't motivating.   Teenagers annoy me.  Cardio bunnies annoy me.  Sitting around on equipment jabber jawing annoys me.   And after dealing with all of that, plus a packed gym, plus old ladies curling 3 pounds at breakneck speed on every single bench and the dude with the 30 pound body bar in the squat rack, I snapped.  No more.  Fuck that.  The atmosphere didn't inspire me.  I leave work pissed off as it is, didn't need the added hassle.  Time to start lifting on base again.  Fine.  8pm workouts it is.

I went back Tuesday and instantly knew I made the right decision.  The dirty, rusty, smelly, testosterone filled mess is far more inspiring.  The place was packed but I was hitting back and knew the two t-bar set ups would be collecting dust in the back corner.  I headed that way after a few sets of high rows to warm up.  Empty as I suspected.  Knocked that out, giggled at some child doing quarter squats and it was time to go to the mosh pit - that is what every one calls the cable area right?  You know where the jackass tries to do kipping pull ups while there is someone doing cable cross overs and the 4 dudes cheer on the 1 dude swinging his whole body to curl?   It's not a pretty scene over there but I had pull downs and rows to do.  There are 2 cable row stations - one is occupied by 2 guys taking turns rowing, the other, 2 guys kneeling with 5 pound dumbbells.  Alright, I gotta watch this so I settle in to do pulldowns.  I get two sets done and realize they are doing wrist exercises.  Palm up wrist curls, palm down wrist curls, change arms.  REALLY?  You need a bench for that.  Wide grip pull downs done, close grip pull downs done.  Now I really need to row.  They gotta move.  As hand gestures didn't seem to appropriately express that they needed to take that shit elsewhere I was forced to remove one of the Beats and suggest they prepare to jerk off on another bench.  From the apparent level of muscle and malnourishment, I probably should have suggested cheeseburgers and dead lifts too.

Tonight a miracle happened.  Yes, a true miracle.  I was approached during my workout with a suggestion on how to do something better and did not flip the fuck out on the guy.  Since developing the external rotation issue with my left shoulder getting under a bar to squat has been impossible.  So I stopped trying for awhile to let it settle down.  I couldn't even high bar squat with much success but it is time to ease back into it.  So after destroying myself on the leg press to avoid any temptation of squatting a respectable weight, I set out to do my 3 sets of 10 empty bar squats.  Set 1 required a full rack and reset after almost falling on my face two reps in but then finished successfully.  That is when the guy in the next rack walked over and suggested lowering the bar for a better squat.  I smiled, explained the situation and then he commented in that case I was doing awesome and went back to his rack.  What saved his ass?  While leg pressing I had taken notice of his insanely perfect front squat form with a few hundred pounds on the bar.  Perfect form.  Ass to ankles.  This guy has a clue and needs to be remembered for future spotter potential.

The only major challenge of the evening was figuring out how to leave without busting out laughing while waddling like a duck as the exit was occupied by a cartoon character of a Marine.   CC first caught my attention when I was on the hamstring curl machine.  He's on the rehab style cable machine doing cable crossovers and looks HUGE.  Little head, huge chest and arms.  Like almost needs to go thru the door sideways huge.  Now, all I am seeing is the waist up.  Very important.  Because when I get to the leg extension machine I need to adjust the ankle pad.  As I am leaning forward I see the SMALLEST set of chicken calves I have ever seen.  I look up.  They are attached to the huge chest and arms.  WTF??  This guy has never and I mean NEVER done a single leg exercise in his life.  Its obvious he has tiny little quads.  The body did not go.  Nope.  Not at all.   Remember those create your own person coloring things we had as kids?  Take this head, that top half, that lower half.  Yea.  Just like that gone wrong.   I really don't know what to even say about that.  Other than he was clearly not the dick that left 16 plates on the leg press before I got to it.  (oh yea, those were thrown in a heap on each side, I don't rack some lazy asses weight)

I also learned if I ever want to use a stair mill, I gotta get on that shit before Zumba lets out and the frenzied run to get one happens - you all know sideways stepping on that builds a better ass than squatting right?

One long detour......

I've put a lot of thought into things lately - why I do what I do, why I lift, why I diet, why fitness is such a part of my life.   This week I realized I have been off course, distracted, sidetracked for quite some time.   When did I stop lifting for the love of it?   When did diet take over my life?  When did appearance start to trump performance?   When did being strong get so complicated?

I blame the Internet.   Prior to my move to NC in April of 2003 I had no time for the Internet.  I commuted.  I worked.  I worked out.  I had a social life.  I was busy all the time.   I actually went to the gym at 5am then because it was the only way I could fit it in.  Then I moved.  I had no job.  I had no commute.  I had nothing but time on my hands.   I drank beer.  I went to the beach.  I lifted.  I sat on my ass in front of the computer and read forums, articles, websites.  I learned about macros and diets and figure competitions and cardio and supplement and programming.  I had time to obsess over things.  I changed the way I ate.  I changed the way I trained.   And know what?  I am now fatter and weaker than I was back then.   The downside to education?  Over-thinking.

Sure I have met some great people on forums and I have learned some beneficial things.  But like most people I get easily distracted by shiny objects.   What type of programming to follow?  What about cardio?  How much to eat?  What to eat?   When to eat?  Years of people's lives are spent jumping from ideology to ideology looking for the magic combination.  I'm pretty sure I had it back when I started this long ass detour - I just didn't realize it.   I lifted heavy and ate a lot.   I weighed the same when I moved as I did when I competed in August 2010 but I was lifting three times as much.   And eating twice as much, at least I think I was.  I never worried about what I ate so it could have been five times as much.   I couldn't have had an intelligent conversation about macros or programming but did it really matter when I looked awesome and could do pull ups all day long?

I've given some thought to who I am willing to discuss training and nutrition with, what pages I have deleted on Facebook, what I read that inspires me, whom I think is bat shit crazy, etc.   And I've come to a conclusion.

For me, it is time to get back to the basics.  Barbells, dumbbells, meat and lots of them all.  Of course this great epiphany comes when I am fighting another reoccurring shoulder injury and a carrying a lot more fat than I need to be.  But I'm ok with that.  I have a plan.  The next month (more, or less) I will be straightening out my diet - too much low quality crap has snuck in and that won't work when I go back to training heavy.   So smaller portions of all the good stuff - steak, potatoes, protein pancakes of all types with some nasty fish and veggies just because I should.   As for training, I'm going to take this time to work on form and identifying exactly what makes the broken parts act up, correcting a few imbalances as well as ankle and hip mobility which is a constant battle.  I've got some thoughts on what I am going to do once this injury problem subsides.  Starting with getting a lot stronger.

Why Can't I Say That?

Today at work, one of the guys made a statement "I am in the best shape of my life."   I didn't really hear the rest of the conversation - something about how he didn't need some 700 calorie drink from Starbucks when black coffee does the job just fine, he's busted his ass and not screwing it up.

Now I see this guy almost every day and have for the last nine months.  The other day I noticed he looked more muscular.  We talk about training a good bit, I know strength and conditioning have been two goals of his.  It seems he has been successful - think about it, in an office setting, when someone starts off in good shape, a very noticeable difference says something - that he has been putting in the work and it has paid off.

This got me to thinking - why can't I say that?  Now I can give the typical list of excuses that people have but that has never been my thing.  If I am not eating right and killing my workouts the reason is always the same - it doesn't matter enough to me.  And it hasn't for quite awhile now.  I'm also not sure how I would define "the best shape of my life" at this point.  

I've been leaner, stronger, had better cardiovascular conditioning.  Right now I think I can say I have more muscle than ever before and that I love.  I also know the thought of losing any muscle or getting skinny by dieting is a huge mental block for me that sends me diving into a pizza.  Standard diet rebellion?  Hell yes.  But it happens.  I refuse to be skinny.  Refuse.  Getting back to the level of strength I once had?  I'd like to say I will do it one day but the reality is I probably won't.   My left forearm has a pretty strong opinion about how much I bench and deadlift, sadly it keeps winning.   Of course people piss me off by telling me I am strong but no, I'm not.  Compared to others, sure, fine, I am.  Compared to my standards?  Nope.  Not at all.   With the right toys I would be more motivated to work on my conditioning because the thought of running and burpees to do it makes me go for another beer.  But I don't have access to fun things like tires and prowlers.  And if I am going to make my lungs burn, it needs to be fun.  I'm a huge supporter of not using your spare time to do things you hate.

What it comes down to is that I don't have a goal, a plan, no clue what it is a I trying to achieve right now.  I have good workouts or no workouts.  I have solid nutrition or shit nutrition.   I am not consistent.  One day I want more muscle.  The next to get leaner.  I mourn my inability to do certain things.   I accept that I am the only thing stopping me from stating "I am in the best shape of my life."  I accept this.  I don't have much planned for this weekend so I am going to take some time to ponder what I want to achieve and how to get there.  I need a plan.