Trials are odd ducks: friends become intolerable, roommates become friends, bosses hang clean 145 pounds like I do 35, and one pair of socks simply doesn’t last an entire week.
After my shift, I strolled to the gym. Dr. Boss, my Ph.D.-in-physics-from-the-number-four-school-according-to-u.s.news-rankings-but-seriously-he-doesn’t-brag-oh-and-also-he’s-done-oly-since-he-was-in-the-womb boss, planned to meet me there. He came, poked around, I dumped 145 onto the rails (I couldn’t stand it up), he cleaned it back up for me, asked why I was only doing front squats (cus I suck at them), asked why I was barefoot (uhh…umm…I forgot my oly shoes but-actually-my-feet-sweat-and-I-don’t-have-socks-and-they-were-slipping-in-my-shoes), then left to go to his shift.
I did 135 a couple more times for good measure, then utilized the mirrors to check out my form. Gross. My butt winks about six inches above parallel. It’s a wonder I can squat anything at all. I’m embarrassed my un-supple-bility was witnessed by Dr. Boss. Tonight, I’ll stealth mobilize. I can’t live in oly shoes, so my squat can’t rely on them.
If I do see him at the gym again tomorrow, maybe I’ll be able to get to parallel. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll be wearing my shoes, sans socks, when I do.