Right on the heals of my current (lengthy) paleo sweet addiction is my predictable ignominy, now swelled to obloquy by the cruel chorus in my head.
I can usually escape these in the gym. But they’ve grown so persistent, so deafening, that “in the gym” isn’t enough. I have to be working so hard that I can hardly think.
15.4 (scaled) offered one of these instances. After a seeming eternity of berating myself for failing at hand stand push ups (it really only lasted on the walk from the wall to the barbell but such distances are long with vicious voices mocking you for having a tummy too big to lift) there was a 3 2 1 GO and I began 8 minutes of 10 push presses (#65) and 10 cleans (#75.) The cleans were a gift, the push presses not so. #65 still feels heavy overhead when more than 5 are required.
I completed 75 reps.
Someone took a picture of my cleans and while those voices swirl on about fat and fluff and pigs whenever I see these images, A helped a lot by turning my focus toward my positions throughout. In the midst of an exhausting workout, I kept my form relatively clean. The weight was light and when I’m out of breath I tend toward slop. It’s good to see the positives. Once I would have shuddered at the thought that these were readily available for anyone to see. The fact that I can recognize some good gives me hope. Not all is lost. I am not who I once was.