There was only one way to face the ill composed jury of the day, alone. Pure resolve would be the theme of day, rejecting the same punishment as yesterday, avoiding double jeopardy, and successfully defending myself. They say that a lawyer who represents himself has a fool for a client. I beg to differ as I prefer to fight my own battles. Today’s triplet, each third compounding the previous, ending in a culmination of sabotage and mental torment was designed to face the judge that sentenced me back to the drawing board yesterday. Any hard earned rights to a semblance of progress were promptly divested from my person. Today I took the stand with a sense of equanimity, avoiding urgency but employing bar bending chivalry while looking the executioner in the face. My times were what they were; not fast neither slow. Focus: Taking pleasure in slaying the judgmental beasts who cast inert stones in my direction, impervious to intimidation from numbers, weights, rounds, and movements. Today I traded the speed that comes from a flurry of jabs with the power from knock out blows. Part one: 5:26 Perfect thrusters, absorbing the bar at the bottom and then executing a slingshot rebellion against gravity. Muscle ups: no missed reps. Solution: rest as much as needed to achieve predetermined schemes. Now I’m warm. Part two: 5:20 I employed a new SDLHP technique rejecting the standard touch and go; instead, I rode the bar down loosely. The theme was consistency and rhythm as opposed to pulmonary collapse. I might have sacrificed a sliver of speed but the consistency compensated. This part was slow and smooth, undeterred, unshaken, and not ready for the magnum opus. Part three: No time due to the timer timing out at 20 minutes (operator error). It didn’t matter though. I rowed the standard pace of 1:53 considering what waited in the shadows. Double unders are a matter of technique when doing 20 or 30 but going over 50 in a wod requires DU fitness. High numbers seem to absorb all atmospheric O2 reducing otherwise hospitable environments to something akin to lunar conditions. It didn’t matter though. The clean and jerk would be the fare for the day. The last movement, the albatross, nemesis, or antithesis to harmony in a tightly whittled universe, the destroyer of galactic enterprises in a single blow…..ad naueseum. The first rep was a fight to the death and but survival prevailed. The second rep was like rubbing large granule sea salt from the Dead Sea in a festering wound. The large crevasse that exists between my mind and body prohibits the utilization of strength under the guise of proper execution, i.e. dropping under the bar. The frustration needle spun out of control requiring the employment of reserve strength. Consequently, I forewent all technique and defaulted to the power clean and push press. The reserves are generally on standby for a Armageddon type situation but sometimes they have to be exercised with Cold War type dogmatism. It’s back to the drawing board with the Oly lifts.
There was only one way to face the ill composed jury of the day, alone. Pure resolve would be the theme of day, rejecting the same punishment as yesterday, avoiding double jeopardy, and successfully defending myself. They say that a lawyer who represents himself has a fool for a client. I beg to differ as I prefer to fight my own battles.
ReplyDeleteToday’s triplet, each third compounding the previous, ending in a culmination of sabotage and mental torment was designed to face the judge that sentenced me back to the drawing board yesterday. Any hard earned rights to a semblance of progress were promptly divested from my person. Today I took the stand with a sense of equanimity, avoiding urgency but employing bar bending chivalry while looking the executioner in the face.
My times were what they were; not fast neither slow. Focus: Taking pleasure in slaying the judgmental beasts who cast inert stones in my direction, impervious to intimidation from numbers, weights, rounds, and movements. Today I traded the speed that comes from a flurry of jabs with the power from knock out blows.
Part one: 5:26 Perfect thrusters, absorbing the bar at the bottom and then executing a slingshot rebellion against gravity. Muscle ups: no missed reps. Solution: rest as much as needed to achieve predetermined schemes. Now I’m warm.
Part two: 5:20 I employed a new SDLHP technique rejecting the standard touch and go; instead, I rode the bar down loosely. The theme was consistency and rhythm as opposed to pulmonary collapse. I might have sacrificed a sliver of speed but the consistency compensated. This part was slow and smooth, undeterred, unshaken, and not ready for the magnum opus.
Part three: No time due to the timer timing out at 20 minutes (operator error). It didn’t matter though. I rowed the standard pace of 1:53 considering what waited in the shadows. Double unders are a matter of technique when doing 20 or 30 but going over 50 in a wod requires DU fitness. High numbers seem to absorb all atmospheric O2 reducing otherwise hospitable environments to something akin to lunar conditions. It didn’t matter though. The clean and jerk would be the fare for the day. The last movement, the albatross, nemesis, or antithesis to harmony in a tightly whittled universe, the destroyer of galactic enterprises in a single blow…..ad naueseum. The first rep was a fight to the death and but survival prevailed. The second rep was like rubbing large granule sea salt from the Dead Sea in a festering wound. The large crevasse that exists between my mind and body prohibits the utilization of strength under the guise of proper execution, i.e. dropping under the bar. The frustration needle spun out of control requiring the employment of reserve strength. Consequently, I forewent all technique and defaulted to the power clean and push press. The reserves are generally on standby for a Armageddon type situation but sometimes they have to be exercised with Cold War type dogmatism. It’s back to the drawing board with the Oly lifts.