Last night I pressed 190lbs for 3 singles and 195lbs for 1 single. This would have been cooler if I pressed 190/195lbs for more reps.

Front squat 365lbs x 3, then 2, pressed 170lbs x 5, worked up to +90lbs weighted ring dips.

Pretty OK workout, I could have done more sets but got called into work.

Saul power cleaned 300lbs x 1 and deadlifted 500lbs x 1 (<– Saul had nothing to say about this).

Today I snatched + hang snatched from below the knee up to 215lbs, then snatched 225lbs and missed the hang snatch. Worked up to a 275lbs c+j, cleaned 295lbs and missed the jerk. Did some good mornings, chin ups, curls, and db lateral delt raises.

JC writes:

I find the fact that this blog is filed under “Training logs” on the mainsite increasingly amusing.

Still… I bet this will be quite a story once you finally escape. Please try to think happy thoughts… if you can. Stay safe.

All right. I’ll think of happy thoughts.

I meet a girl. She is kind and has pretty brown eyes. There is a sadness in her gaze that compels me. She gives me the time of day. I make her laugh. Soon, she smiles when she thinks of my name. Soon we are hugging. Soon I steal a kiss – and she gives me another. I feel bright. We are lying in her bed. I am half-napping, her head buried against my chest (which could bench more than 275lbs x 3). I trace my fingers up her back to her neck where my touch lingers in lazy circles. The sunlight is warm. My retinas produce splotches of red when I close my eyes, a semi-permanent image that I try to keep in my mind.

Now it is dark. I feel heat. Her lips are soft and wet; my skin burns cold from their caress. She strokes me to hardness and my want, my yearning is unbearable. “Touch me,” she says, and I do, hungrily. She gasps and my mouth finds hers, we breathe into each other, she is my heart, she is my heart.

It is quiet. I am staring at a wall. This is all too familiar. Like when she left me. I’m sorry, she told me, I’m sorry I’m sorry, and she was gone. The door stayed open behind her. I don’t watch TV and I don’t feel like writing and I don’t feel like lifting so I find a comfortable place and sit. Waiting for something. How much time have I spent hoping? Do I even know what I’m hoping for?

When I see her again years later she is smiling. She holds someone else in her arms and is happy. Her pretty brown eyes are bright. Maybe her quiet gaze was never what I thought it was. Maybe her sadness was mine.

I feel heavy. I rack the bar and it buries me, I climb and stall and drop back into the hole, trying to catch the rhythm of the bar to stand again and again before I fail and crumple. I stand hunched with my hands on my knees while nebulous splotches of red dance behind my retinas, memories I am trying to erase. I load more lbs onto the bar, crank into position, pull again. I am tired. Gravity is a constant.

Even in my fantasies I am alone.

karibot writes:

I have a job interview tomorrow, and I don’t think I’ll be able to handle it without mobbing beforehand. Perfectly normal, perfectly healthy?

I’ve always felt that movement is expression. There’s nothing weird or irrational about mobbing before a job interview, or before doing anything that you care about imo – you are reflected by your actions, and your every movement is action. We are all athletes. There is no reason we would want to venture out without giving us the advantage of improved position, smoother sliding surfaces, and more movement options. You’re making a good decision.