Until the Cut

So, that was informative, if not entirely awesome. No burying the lede here: I go in for surgery on Monday, 9/9. My pre-op consult is Friday, 9/6.

Pictures of this week’s non-shit lifts and other stuff under the cut.
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Breakfast Mush

There’s this thing that happens when your friends know you “do fitness stuff”. It’s akin to the Pickup Truck Call, in that you’re top-of-mind when it comes to moving things, especially large, awkward, or heavy things. This is expected and, usually, fairly entertaining, because there’s usually food and stuff as thanks, plus… hey, free bonus exercise. :-)

There’s also the inevitable wallpapering of stuff that captures social media mindshare, which Oatmeal’s treatise on running did when he posted it recently.

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The safety dance

Since I am perennially a man without a hat, I can make that joke in conjunction with taking delivery of my new EFTS safety squat bar.

Did some empty bar reps in the living room to get a feel for it after I attached the handles. I think it’ll work out well.

Now, if I can dispel the tightness, soreness, and swelling from my right ankle/calf/knee so I can try and squat heavy to explore my approximate 1RM tomorrow, that would be lovely. I’ll be thrilled with 405#, and not dissatisfied with anything over 365. Deadlifts are similarly mentally anticipated to have lost about 10% from my PR last year, so 455#+ is really what I’m looking for with a conventional pull.

Benching was a surprisingly non-deprecated 245# (only lost 20# off my PR despite the months and months of injured discomfort and bullshit) and my overhead press was a nearly complete shock – a 15# PR of 180# (I was really hoping for a 1xBW rep @ 190#, but 185# wasn’t getting up more than halfway).

Mudderfuckery

So, I did one of those mud runs (Mudzilla) over the weekend. mud-finishThis was me, trying like hell to remain upright and photogenic, after finishing. I am not fast. I am, in fact, embarassingly slow by my standards… but at least I was as fast as everyone else from my office who participated.

Yes, I have a large grease pencil X on my forehead, because… what are you, new?

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Project Samson

Because everything in the gym is better with ridiculous bets with friends….

Perro Grande mentioned that he’s not gonna shave his sad-ass excuse for a scraggly man-beard until he benches 315×5 (he can hit singles right now); I am considering a similar follicular detente as I make my push for a single or more at 275.

Similarly, we’re both foregoing haircuts until we squat 405.

Things may be getting hairy at the office come springtime; I’m really hoping to hit both of these before March (the bench is about 20# away, but I’m plateaued, and the squat is 70# more than I’ve ever done, but I did 325# 6×3 two weeks ago).

Rush Limbaugh is a fat, stupid, lying sack of shit

I figure that headline has better SEO than “Sky blue, water wet.”

It seems the ubiquitous blowhard has finally stuck his dick into my meat-grinder by suggesting that exercise, and the folks who engage in it, are burdensome on the American health care system.

All you exercise freaks, you’re the ones putting stress on the health care system.” – Rush Limbaugh, 2009

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T totalling

Some things are easy to gauge — strength and endurance and weight — because we have the tools at our disposal to measure them. Other things are trickier — sleep quality, or various nutritional balances — but still within the realm of doable for someone who is attentive and attuned to how their body works. But for some things, there’s no real substitute for professional diagnostics and evaluation.

And this brings us to today’s subject, which is going to come as something of a surprise to most readers.

Your not so humble scribe has what has somewhat coyly become known as “Low T.”

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The shirt off my back

Randomly gifted with a fairly nice, black, Nike dri-fit golf shirt from Dell at work the other day, I decided to wear it this morning.

It’s an XL, which, admittedly, I’m not. However, the contrast between the fit of an XL and my more habitual Ls (with a couple of Ms) has got me thinking about the concept of vanity sizing for guys.

Yes, part of my goal when I started lifting was to outgrow my Medium polo shirts, at least through the arms, shoulders, and upper back (there’s nothing to be done about length; no lift I’ve found will actually make me any taller, dagnabbit). That’s on the forseeable horizon, and not just because of my penchant for washing my laundry in warm or hot water (cotton shrinks; this dry-weave/dri-fit/wicking stuff is fucking amazingly resilient to that sort of stupidity). So, it’s not surprising that I’m most comfortable in shirts with an L on the tag.

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I have a problem.

Specifically, I have a problem with the way figure athletes are photographed entirely too frequently. These are women who bust their ass in the gym, on the track, or wherever, and turn their bodies into works of functional art.

I understand that doing conventional modeling shoots – swimsuits or club clothes and what have you – are a look that, regardless of the model being photographed, is fairly consistent.

However, fitness models and figure athletes also end up doing shoots and sets that are set in workout facilities, allowing them to showcase that aspect.

… and almost without fail, whoever is coordinating these events comprehensively fucks the dog.

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Valeria revisited

Who?

Her. Not the one up there.

Yeah.

Scaled to my weight (170-175#), the “Good” weights are like so:

Bench Press: 135

Pullups: 175 (with weight belt)

Deadlift: 245

EZ Curl: 65

Time (4/18/10): 7:13

Time (2/24/11): 5:06 No wonder it felt so much fucking harder this time – I did the deadlifts before the pullups by accident.

Video of this idiocy behind the cut.

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