In the past week I’ve:
- snatched up to 225lbs, 230lbs
- c+jed 280lbs
- pulled 435lbs for a single
- did 3 kipping muscle ups on the rings without a false grip
- 5 sets of 3 ring handstand push ups
- benched and pressed like shit
I’ve been rolling my IT bands, particularly down past the knee joint, and it’s been pretty awful. It’s been productive, though, I’ve got some better knee flexion in my left knee (which has been my problem knee as far as knee flexion) and it’s definitely helped my bottom positions because of that. This also seems to have helped my couch stretch a lot and I’m feeling less tightness distally and more of a stretch higher up the anterior thigh which is probably a good sign.
I used to do the banded wall squat stretch pretty regularly for hip joint approximation, I haven’t visited it in a while since I’ve been focusing on working on soft-tissue stuff along my anterior and posterior thigh. Reincorporated it last week because a gradual impinged sensation in my left hip has been creeping on me; the approximation took care of the weird feeling and also made my pulling and squatting feel a lot better. Snatching has progressively gotten better as I’ve hit my calves and IT bands and looks like the approximation was another key piece in improving my bottom position overhead squat.
BW’s coming back up, I’ve been without waxy maize as part of my pre-workout shake (in fact, have not been using a pre-workout shake for a few weeks/months) and got some today and had a pretty decent workout for having deadlifted and done RDLs on Saturday.
I need a better reaction to when people pay me compliments for my lifts. This isn’t me saying I’m worthy of compliments – I’m just saying there has to be a better reaction than me saying “thanks” flatly and dismissively without making eye contact, because someone telling me, “nice lift,” “that’s a lot of weight,” “that’s impressive,” only reminds me of how fucking shitty I am as an athlete. My immediate thought is “this wouldn’t medal at a meet, but thanks for reminding me of that fact. If you need me, I’ll be the guy at the dumbbell rack – smashing his fucking face in the mirror.”
Went to the gym on Saturday. They were hosting a meet. It was packed. Walked up to the front desk, owner looked at me and said, “You’re not lifting today.”
“OoohKAY,” and I turned to drive to a globo.
The above has not been embellished in anyway.
At the globo, a dude saw me with 265lbs on the bench and without any provocation on my part asked if I needed a spot. I did, so I said in a minute. I can only guess what made him approach me. Did I look lost? 155lbs Asian kid pretending he can bench more than 225lbs? Did I look lonely? Did he take pity on me, seeing the misery scrawled on my face and in my awkward seated position on the bench, staring at the floor and periodically pushing my glasses up my nose because I don’t have the social skills to look comfortable in any setting? After the set he asked, “Do you always go all the way down and touch your chest? Doesn’t bother your shoulders?” He wasn’t being a dickhead – he was pretty friendly and was legit asking because the thought of that much shoulder extension in the bench press seemed painful to him.
I said, “It used to hurt, then I did some stuff to make it better,” not really interested in talking to this 40 year old guy about mobility when he was honestly fine without it, not like he’s gonna compete or anything. Excuse me sir you just want to bang your wife and play ball with your kid, let me tell you about the importance of restoring scapular mobility.
“Used to hurt … huh,” he said. That ellipsis in the middle is him waiting for me to elaborate, but I was too busy being an autistic dickhead unloading the bench so I could go deadlift.
I sent an email to this lady who’s the organizer of a storytelling meet in Richardson so I can do an open mic and read some kind of depressing erotica (I’ll post it here for you guys when I’m done) but she hasn’t gotten back to me, probably because she googled me and found the blog and doesn’t want me there.
Brent doesnt write any mobility erotica anymore. I havent been this depressed since highschool.
SOON MY SON. SOON.
k get fucked.
Brent you’d love Paranormal Activity.
Saw the third one, whimpered and covered my eyes for most of it. Screamed the loudest in a theater full of teenage kids. People were laughing at me. Was too terrified to give a flying fuck.
Explain to me the progression scheme to singles across?
lol what the fuck are you, new?
Brent how are the girls going?
My girlfriend asked me to wear bunny ears a while ago, my thing is to send her shocking/unexpected pictures so last week I sent her a picture of me wearing pink bunny ears and taped a lacrosse ball to my sacrum to act as a bunny tail. It may or may not have been a nude pic look guys don’t ask just take it for what is and let’s move on NEXT.
Diablo 3 out soon. Thoughts?
I don’t play games, I quit school because of recess.
If u had to marry any of the oly lifts or powerlifts, who would u marry? I’d marry the squat but cheat on her with the snatch
I’d marry the one I sucked at the most so it would stop talking to me. Hopefully we’d have kids and I’d lose custody and the house AND the corgi. I’d have to find a run-down studio apartment, where I’d listen to Radiohead at night – not because I’m depressed, just because that’s what I do at night. Later I’d see some other dude deadlifting and he’d be real good at it and I would try to be brave and hold it together and just keep trying to train but eventually I’d just lose it and start sobbing hysterically in the middle of my squatting. Becky would ask me “are you OK?” and I would say I WANT YOU TO NOTICE WHEN I’M NOT AROUND YOU’RE SO FUCKING SPECIAL I WISH I WAS SPECIAL and squat to failure then leave the gym without unracking the weight. I would drive to Austin and show up on Jacob Cloud’s doorstep to ask if he wanted to hang out. He would be completely unaware of the heart break I was experiencing and more or less brush me off, “No man this is kind of a surprise and I’ve got plans, maybe next time.”
“Alright,” I’d say, and I’d drive to to Corpus Christi and sit with my knees to chest watching the tide.
Justin would call me but I wouldn’t feel like talking so I don’t answer.
I’d drive back and the deadlift would tell me, “By the way, when I say we’re done that means no RDLs, either.”
“That’s fine,” I’d say, and I’d do 5-8 sets of GHRs.
Saul would ask me, “How do your hamstrings feel?”
I would say more wistfully than I’d like, “They won’t be the same.”