First rnd was status quo, resting only as long it took to get from one station to the next. Three minutes was hardly enough time to recuperate. No worries I thought. It's only 135# and I've done worse rep schemes in the past without problems. After the second rnd my world imploded and burned to a crisp state of bewilderment. After three days off I planned on working back into it with a moderate scheme; hence, the five reps. It proved to be more than my current capacity. My foundation cracked and every sense of my being toppled over. This event redefined the red for me. It was all I could do to stand over the bar and summon my nonexistent telepathic powers to contradict the stubborn face of gravity. Breathing was stifled. Heart was pounding out of control. Red blood cells bottlenecked in an ugly traffic jam at the aortic bypass. Thoughts betrayed me, suggesting that some esoteric affliction had taken over my mind and body. The third rnd was even worse, struggling to overtake my nemesis (HSPU) but powerless in the fight. All I could do was stare at the wall and sit in bewilderment. Has my reach exceeded my grasp? Has the crevice separating my programming from my capacity eroded into a gaping hole? So close to game day yet so far from securing the perfect formula. It's time to take inventory.
Rest is an integral part of fitness, allowing the body to rebuild the structural support dismantled by the wrecking ball of life. A daily grind of physical suffering and mental anguish requires ample time to revitalize the internal fuel cell. How we select appropriate rest is an individual decision. It requires calculated personal research and keen insight; a universal blueprint does not exist. Listen to your body and heed the signs of self-destruction. But understand, we are creates of habit. When conditioned to perform, straying to far from an established pattern can have mixed results. Like a strung out addict in need of a fix, at times, running the metabolic engines and sucking the exhaust is the only option.
After a brutal bout with Linda and in anticipation of events looming just over the horizon, I returned to active duty after a 48-hour liberty pass. My body felt weathered and my mind questioned the necessity of the training session. However, experience spoke clearly: “This is what you need, put your dick in the dirt.” The specific nature of this arrangement was clear. Each couplet comprised of a barbell and body weight movement with a simple rep scheme, mandating quick turn arounds, and little or no recovery. The three-minute rest intervals enabled max effort at each station. Maximum effort was a relative term today. Continued exposure to 135# thrusters is increasing efficiency, I moved quickly through the first portion unbroken, finishing under three minutes. I started the second couplet touch and go on the cleans, but found survival mode appealing by the start of the third round. It was all down hill on the ice luge from this point. I completed the final couplet using the original schematics: 25” box jumps. Your inclination to substitute HSPUs was prudent. The boxes were miserable following the squatting movements. In fact, I’d go as far as detrimental. While not impressed with my effort, the flux-capacitor is back online. From this point, it will take careful throttle manipulation to assure the speedo clocks 88 mph on Saturday when the lighting strikes.
First rnd was status quo, resting only as long it took to get from one station to the next. Three minutes was hardly enough time to recuperate. No worries I thought. It's only 135# and I've done worse rep schemes in the past without problems. After the second rnd my world imploded and burned to a crisp state of bewilderment. After three days off I planned on working back into it with a moderate scheme; hence, the five reps. It proved to be more than my current capacity. My foundation cracked and every sense of my being toppled over. This event redefined the red for me. It was all I could do to stand over the bar and summon my nonexistent telepathic powers to contradict the stubborn face of gravity. Breathing was stifled. Heart was pounding out of control. Red blood cells bottlenecked in an ugly traffic jam at the aortic bypass. Thoughts betrayed me, suggesting that some esoteric affliction had taken over my mind and body. The third rnd was even worse, struggling to overtake my nemesis (HSPU) but powerless in the fight. All I could do was stare at the wall and sit in bewilderment. Has my reach exceeded my grasp? Has the crevice separating my programming from my capacity eroded into a gaping hole? So close to game day yet so far from securing the perfect formula. It's time to take inventory.
ReplyDeleteRest is an integral part of fitness, allowing the body to rebuild the structural support dismantled by the wrecking ball of life. A daily grind of physical suffering and mental anguish requires ample time to revitalize the internal fuel cell. How we select appropriate rest is an individual decision. It requires calculated personal research and keen insight; a universal blueprint does not exist. Listen to your body and heed the signs of self-destruction. But understand, we are creates of habit. When conditioned to perform, straying to far from an established pattern can have mixed results. Like a strung out addict in need of a fix, at times, running the metabolic engines and sucking the exhaust is the only option.
ReplyDeleteAfter a brutal bout with Linda and in anticipation of events looming just over the horizon, I returned to active duty after a 48-hour liberty pass. My body felt weathered and my mind questioned the necessity of the training session. However, experience spoke clearly: “This is what you need, put your dick in the dirt.” The specific nature of this arrangement was clear. Each couplet comprised of a barbell and body weight movement with a simple rep scheme, mandating quick turn arounds, and little or no recovery. The three-minute rest intervals enabled max effort at each station. Maximum effort was a relative term today. Continued exposure to 135# thrusters is increasing efficiency, I moved quickly through the first portion unbroken, finishing under three minutes. I started the second couplet touch and go on the cleans, but found survival mode appealing by the start of the third round. It was all down hill on the ice luge from this point. I completed the final couplet using the original schematics: 25” box jumps. Your inclination to substitute HSPUs was prudent. The boxes were miserable following the squatting movements. In fact, I’d go as far as detrimental. While not impressed with my effort, the flux-capacitor is back online. From this point, it will take careful throttle manipulation to assure the speedo clocks 88 mph on Saturday when the lighting strikes.