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.
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
Thursday, January 17, 2013
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?
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?
Saturday, November 24, 2012
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.
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.
Friday, October 26, 2012
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.
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.
Saturday, September 15, 2012
What's wrong with the rear view mirror?
You hate your job? Every day? You would prefer to be hit by a falling asteroid than go back? Time to look back and remember when you liked going to work. Think about the work you wanted to do way back when or what you want to do now. Then leave. I realize that is easier said than done - over priced college degrees, a bad economy, obligations in life - you know the things that prevent all of us in the wrong place from walking in Monday morning and quitting? They aren't going away. But there comes a time you need to make the leap. It won't be easy, but it will be worth it. 30 more years of your soul dying in a place you hate won't be easy either. Make the plan. Take the leap.
To all of you that complain about your diets, your workouts, your cardio, how it interferes with your life, how you have no life, why do you do it? If you hate whatever it is you do that much, why keep going? To keep friends? Make someone else happy? Don't tell me it is for yourself, I don't drink Kool Aid or buy bullshit. Because its not. If you were doing it for you, there would not be all this bitching. If you loved it, you would embrace the entire experience, not just the pleasant parts. Take a look back - why did you start? And should you really keep going?
Think about your "friends" and how they got there. Social media is a life sucker - so many people shoving their way into your day that without it would never have gotten a second of your time. What does each and every person add to your life? Positive energy? Encouragement? Friendly debate? Or drama? I've always kept my circle small and somehow it grew - easy enough to shrink it back to those that I value - hide/delete/block are amazing functions. Too bad they can't be used in person. This goes for other "influencers" too. If the magazine/blog/tv show/website doesn't add quality to your life, get rid of it. Constant stimulus isn't necessarily a good thing. Remember all those studies about young girls and waif-like models? They apply to anything and everything you surround yourself with.
The two scariest places to look are not the closet and under the bed but the past and into yourself. No one sets out in life to be miserable - there was a time you were happy. Everything has not always been wrong. There are things you loved. Bring them back. I've done a lot of that looking lately as I have that job and wish for that asteroid. No, I can't go back, listen to my gut and run from the offer. I can't go back to 19 and major in what I loved versus what made sense (because other people said so, and yea, they were right, I'm pretty damn employable, if not happy in my field). But there are things I can change. I lift for the love of it again and amazingly my diet has fallen right in line. Proper motivation = proper action. I got followed around Kohl's by security today - seems my fauxhawk and Flag Nor Fail tank were very suspicious. Yes, when I was done giggling over the memory of that happening 20 some years ago with my good friend from high school I put the not so undercover idiot right back in his place - but it did point out I was doing something right. I no longer blended in. I don't even know how that happened. But it won't happen again.
My plane/pool reading for the trip to Florida? Revolver, Psychology Today, Ironman and Vogue. Exactly what it should be.
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
Why I Lift
Overkill - Old Wounds, New Scars
Tonight's workout had a theme song. It came on during my first set of squats and completely fit after I spent the weekend in pain - residual damage from an accident 20 years ago. It was also the best workout I have had in a years. And I mean years - back to the days at Courthouse Bay at Camp Lejeune, before my elbow gave out, before figure competitions, before programming, before met con, before rehab, prehab and mobility, before I gave a fuck about anything other than moving weight.
Tonight the pain didn't matter. Nothing did. It was all about the weight - head down, music up, get it done. Leg day. Squats. Lunges. More squats. Deads. Repeat. My legs shook. Nausea set it. My head pounded. Nothing mattered but the weight. Set after set, rep after rep. It got done.
This is why I started lifting. Not any of the other shit - not bling, diets, conditioning - nothing but the release that comes with zoning out and destroying a workout.
Finally, after all the times I have posted this, to remind myself, I actually did it:
"Somewhere behind the athlete you've become, the hours of practice, the coaches who push you, and the fans who cheer for you, is the little girl who fell in love with the sport and never looked back. Play for her."
I'm not looking back. Watch out shoulders. I'm coming after you tomorrow.
Sunday, August 5, 2012
Twenty-two months is a long time!
Like forever. Or it will feel that way if the last 6 months are any indication. So what happens in 22 months? I get to go back to the east coast. I realize it could be longer because the USMC has a way of fucking up the best laid plans but I absolutely cannot think about that right now. Cannot.
I've already got the trifecta of stress to deal with - too far from home, shitty job, cesspool rental house - and no ability to change any of them. None. Not a single thing I can do to unfuck any of it. This has me pretty stressed out. Considering I am a tightly wound, type A control freak when everything is going awesome, this is a problem. This crap just snowballs - I get stressed, I get tense, my neck and traps turn into bricks. Especially on that broken left side. Then I have to modify by workout because nerves get entrapped and my elbow starts acting up. My shoulder hurts. That 5 hours of sleep a night I usually get just became 2. Now I have an even worse attitude, I am too tired to chew my food and I don't give a fuck about anything. Including going to the gym. And when lunch time rolls around, screw chicken, bring on the pizza. You know, cause I didn't eat my first 2 meals. So somehow, I need to lower the stress level so I go to the gym and eat more chicken.
The only plan I can come up with is to break the time up - two month intervals and assign goals/tasks to each one. Something to obsess over and keep me busy after work. So I don't dwell on the fact this house is vile and isn't even close to something I would consider a home. (And in case you are wondering, in CA you can win a lawsuit over the nutritional value of Nutella but you can't get out of a lease when your appliances don't work and windows don't open - just an FYI)
The first two months isn't really two months - it is now until I go on vacation in late September. The goals for now are:
- Stick to meal plan
- Stick to workout plan
- Find a way to compartmentalize work / home so I don't explode going from one bad situation to another.
The first two would be quite simple if it was not for the third goal. That has been a huge issue since I got to CA in late January. It is how I turned out at CrossFit - had I walked in the house after work, I would never leave to lift. I'm back into my routine with lifting now but there are still days I struggle to get off my ass to go to the gym. Once there, I have no problems. But there are times I just want to sit. And stare. And wonder why it isn't 2014 yet. My meals are better too. Pretty much because there is NOTHING in the house or in my desk that isn't on my plan. And my lunch buddy at work is traveling for 60 days. The fact NFL training camps have started helps too - just don't think you are watching anything other than NFL Today in the lunch room at 1pm. Because you aren't.
I really don't know how I am tackling #3 yet. This week I'm am going to drag Olie into the plan and take him for a walk every day as soon as I get home. He needs to work on his fear of the big bad world and maybe 20 minutes of fresh air will help me. Then dinner. Then the gym. Then I can stare at the nasty walls and wonder why it isn't 2014.
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