I just completed 30 of the worst cleans I’ve ever done. Ever.
It’s a windy road, this journey to excellence.
I woke up determined to complete Grace. Heck, I went to bed determined to complete Grace. We were given our choice of girls today, and nothing makes me happier than lots of Oly. Specifically lots of cleans (I could leave the jerks, but that’d be like eating only the frosting on a birthday cake: lots of waste.)
Well, today proved that I’ve fallen to pot. Without time for a proper warmup, I loaded #95 on the bar and set myself for…failure. Indeed, I got the first three up, but barely. I literally felt like an elephant. Picture that for a second: an elephant cleaning weight. Physically impossible.
I wasn’t going to let myself have that bad of form. (Also, my bad form wasn’t letting me actually lift the weight.) After I dropped the third jerk on my shins (ouch) I deloaded ten pounds and went about finishing the next 27 at 85.
Dismal. Just dismal. I finished, but each clean looked worse than the previous. Considering how miserably it began, by the end I was a train wreck. I wasn’t even a fast train wreck though: I was really trying to focus on my movement patterns, but all I ended up doing was painting disaster in slow motion.
Número uno: I couldn’t squat. I didn’t get down. My sorry legs wouldn’t bend. Oly-shoe clad, my feet jumped so wide it looked like awful mimicry of carl paoli’s pancake splits. Pitiful.
Deux: my elbows were slow as a sloth. I caught every single clean on my sternum before I scraped it up to my shoulders. Diane Fu would not be proud.
San: I kept going. Bad form should not be repeated. I copied it over 30 times. My mobility and my brain were lacking.
Also lacking is practice. I’ve been undisciplined in my climb to Oly respectability. I had unrealistic expectations and did not factor my injury nor my forced time away into my plan for today.
I disgraced Grace, and I am sorry for it.
Back to being excellent.