Cranky is as cranky does

Generic gym weight photo with the assumption I lifted something equally as heavy yesterday.

I am having a day. I’m sore. Like the kind of sore that makes me want to text E and say “I’m sore, I hate you!” but I’d just get back a laughing emoji and “good!” We (ha ha ha we) did arms, shoulders and chest last night. Push ups! So many freaking pushups! Then it was on to a new way of bench pressing. 2 reps, drop half way, hold 2 seconds, 4 reps, drop half way, hold 4 seconds. Go by twos and see when you max out. Rest a minute and a half and repeat. 4 sets. Last one “more weight, just for funsies!” Obviously the funsies part doesn’t apply to ME! I was swearing!

Drop sets on the tricep dip. Started with 130#, 10 reps, 115#, 10 reps, 80#, 10 reps. Wash, rinse, repeat for 4 sets.

5, 4, 3, 2, 1s on the chest press. Hold the bars out, 5 reps left, then right, 4 reps left, then right, so on. These were killer last night. My arms were screaming, I was swearing, I was getting pissed off at how hard I was struggling. When I got frustrated, E let me in on the change he’d made. He’d dropped the bars back so my range was twice what I normally do. So instead of pushing out from even with my body, I was coming from behind and pushing out to extension. “Oh, so is that why my upper arms and shoulders are screaming like a m-fucker?” YES.

At one point E looked at me and said “can you believe it’s already been an hour? What happened?! We just started!” I thought he was kidding, but he was right. How an hour flies by like that amazes me, especially when I used to count the minutes at the gym.

I did a lot of reflecting last night. First off, when I got to my car, I sat a minute. I knew it would be an effort to steer my car home! I realized about 9 weeks ago I’d be crying in the car, wondering what the hell I was doing to myself. Instead of that, it was just absorbing how damn hard I’d worked. Was it easy? No. Did I zip through the sets? No. I’d said to E before I left “I’m never going to leave here again saying that was easy, am I?” He smiled and said no. If it is, we’ve both failed.

I realized I’m good with that. I want the results and I’m willing to work.

I also realized by the time I got home that he’s taken my workouts to a new level. I knew leg day on Friday was hard and he had me do new things, but it wasn’t until last night that I realized there are things he’s introduced that are harder and definitely notches higher than what I’ve done. Like sit to stands holding a 30# barbell. 40 times. Super setted with lunges. Calf raises on the smith machine with 70# on my back. I’d already moved on from the thinking of I’m handicapped to being a person with some disabilities, but this stuff kind of even blows that out of the water. Sure, my left limbs are wonky, but I’m pretty sure if I challenged all the able body people in my vicinity to try what I’m doing, most would nope out and the few who are willing to try would swear up a storm. Things aren’t handicapped hard anymore. They are just hard. Weird blessing, isn’t it?

I’m still trying to apply this focus on my eating. I’m up over 3 pounds and it’s all in the name of off plan eats and not following doable hunger. Why can’t stopping at enough be like stopping when my arms give out lifting? They give me a very clear signal “no, enough, done!” and I listen. Yet my stomach and brain say “no, enough, done!” and I try to ignore the message or plan disregard it and put more in my mouth.

It’s a process. It’s practice. It’s just like weights. Maybe last week wasn’t the best, but last week is over and it’s time to focus on now. I will get there!