Failure is My Middle Name or "Chubby Girl Gonna Chub"

I'm sure I've mentioned this before, but I used to be kinda fat. Like can't shop in a regular store fat. Order from the extended catalog sizes fat. Size-18-but-your-friends-pretend-you're-big-boned fat.

Not like, Learning Channel fat, but I was a chubster. Chubby is my natural inclination. I gain weight insanely easily, and I was never one of those "Oh, my 20 year old metabolism will save me" types. Nope. I went super chub the moment I entered college and stayed that way until I forced my body to comply with my wishes when I was 23. I went from hovering around 200# to 142# over the course of 6 months in my last year of graduate school.

That was the first full scale battle I waged against my weight. I've waged two others in the last 20 or so years, but pretty much every day is a minor skirmish. Sometimes I gain ground, often I lose it. I've been fighting the same 15 goddamn pounds for the last 10 years.

Are you enjoying this military metaphor? 

Last year before the state powerlifting meet, I was 77.1kg. That's 169.6 pounds in Real American. I then proceeded to cut to 71kg (156.2RA) over the course of 3 months. It sucked. It was brutal. I was reed thin at the end of it (also a fucking goddess but whatevs) and determined to stay there.

Sadly, I'm also super old in addition to being unbelievably lazy. So my weight slid up and down for the next little while as I tried to determine WTF my actual maintenance calories are. I make this difficult for myself by not tracking as consistently as I should or thinking that a splash of half and half or a pat of butter or like a dozen Girl Scout cookies won't make much difference. You know. Small stuff.

Here's the thing. For me, in this stupid fucking body, it does. My body loooooooves to be squishy. It's my default setting. I can put on 5# in a weekend. Don't believe me? I have data. It's not as though I was mainlining Crisco, either. I'm talking I had a couple of beers and a burger. With a side salad. I can choose salad and still gain 5# in 2 days. It's like a superpower. The shittiest superpower ever. 

Sadly my clothes don't expand.

After my vein procedure in February (it worked! Huzzah!) I sat around for 2 weeks. In compression-wear and sweat pants. Hard to tell how much weight you're gaining when you're crammed into Spanx covered with giant pants. Could I have tracked, cut down my eating, worn my FitBit? Well sure, I could have done that. But I didn't. Because chubby girl gonna chub.

Actual picture of me eating frosting from a can. I'm kidding. 

I ate an entire container of sea salt caramels from Costco.

Bulk chub, bitches.

Once I was allowed to lift again, I did. Here's the thing...it felt like shit. It still kinda feels like shit. I'm still doing it, but I'm having to force myself into the gym. I'm still reestablishing the habit. I'm a huge lump of sloth, remember?

I feel you, sloth. I feel you.

Today I weighed in at 77.3kg (that's 170RA). This number makes me NOT HAPPY. I have put on TWELVE POUNDS over the last 2 months. Now some of this is water after ending a water cut, and some is hormonal bloat (your welcome for the TMI) but it fucks up the way my pants fit, you dig?  I know why this happened. I got lazy with tracking, I ate too many cookies, I didn't drink enough water. It's my fault. All my fault. 

I've always held out hope that there is a promised land where my weight will stabilize and I'll be able to eat without having to weigh and track every goddamn thing. That after years...no...decades of work and dedication that I'll reach a point where I can just...live. When every goddamn day doesn't have to be a battle. I've tried a lot of different methods over the years, and they all worked for a while, but my baser nature ends up fucking everything up eventually. Chubsters gonna chub. 

At the moment I'm coming to terms with the fact that I'm going to have to track what I eat forever. There's really no way around it. There is no end point. No destination. Just more goddamn road, and that road is paved with Samoas. And I can't eat them. Ever. Blah blah moderation. I've proven that I can't be trusted with cookies. Or large containers of caramels from Costco. Or bags of chocolate chips. I'll overeat anything. You got a loaf of bread you want cleaned up? Bring it here. 

77 goddamn fucking kilos. Son of a bitch. 

I'm migrating over to Cronometer from MFP (fuck MFP). It is clear I have to track, but I hate MFP with the burning fire of 1000 suns. Cronometer seems fine, and a new app makes it feel more like a game again instead of a punishment I've brought down on myself for 20 years of inconsistency and failure. I'm back in the gym and I'm going to work on my weaknesses-imalances and mobility problems I've neglected in the past. I'll be doing yoga more frequently as that helps me mind and body. And I'll be...le sigh...running again. 

Last year I decided I wasn't going to buy gym clothes or gym equipment this year. Basically I have no choice but to figure this shit out because I cleared out all my big clothes. I thought I wasn't going to get chubby again. Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa LOLZ FOREVER. 

I got these pants when I was 12# lighter. 

I think I heard them crying.

Progress isn't linear. Backsliding is inevitable, at least for someone like me. I try not to be all-or-nothing, but "all" needs to be my default setting. This 41 year old body doesn't leave me a lot of room for mistakes, and this has to stop now. I intended to gain weight after the state meet...but not this way. Not the way I always fuck everything up. I know I must weigh and track all the things. I have to watch my weight and measurements like a hawk, and I need to get on top of things before they reach critical mass.

Critical mass being splitting my goddamn pants. Ain't NOBODY wants to see my cottage cheese ass. No time like the present to pick up where I left off. Tracked, ate, drank all the water, lifted all the weights. Yoga in the morning, rinse repeat.

Exactly 4oz beef, 125g asparagus, and 148g of potato.

Son of a bitch. 

It's Not You, It's Me or "You're Not Special, I Ghosted Everyone"

I took a break from social media starting 11/1. I intended to stay off FB and IG until after 1/1/19, and I did. Longer than that, actually. I ventured back onto Facebook a few weeks back, and at first it was fine. The app never went back onto my phone, so it was computer only.

It didn't take long for me to remember why I left in the first place.

There's a lot of vitriol on Facebook these days, and sometimes it comes from unexpected quarters. I unfollowed a lot (and I mean a lot) of people during the 2016 election because I couldn't handle feeling enraged all the time and the unfollowing helped. Fast forward to recently and my generally peaceful feed full of dogs and kids and vacation slides will suddenly vomit up a wildly inaccurate meme about vaccines or politics and I learn something I didn't want to know about a person in my social circle.

A lot is two words, people.

Add to this constant posts about various MLMs, a billion sponsored ads about things I didn't even looks up (WTF, big brother?), and the ever present vaguebooking status updates. (Seriously, what is with this? If you don't want people to know what's wrong, then why post at all? WHY?) I'm just sort of...tired. I used to post quite a bit, everything from stream of consciousness posts to pictures to memes. On occasion it would spark a fun discussion, but mostly I was just screaming into the void and I can do that by myself. 

Or with a friend, whatever.

Instagram used to be fun for me. It's less negative overall than FB, slightly less sponsored content, more pretty pictures of places and funny pictures of dogs. Most of the content I followed was gym or animal related. For a while I used it to track my workouts, because I watched a lot of other people's content and seeing real people working on their goals was inspiring to me.

Then I started thinking about how I looked in the videos. If what I was wearing was flattering. If my veins and cellulite were too much on display or if my belly was hanging out. I started paying attention to how many views a post got. How many likes. In short...it was making me feel like your basic thirsty bitch. I hate the way that feels. 

I am deeply insecure, but I don't want to be thirsty. 

I opened up IG a few days ago because I'd read a dialogue exchange in a book that really struck me and I wanted to post it somewhere. I scrolled for a few minutes and...yeah. I don't need to go back down that rabbit hole. Instagram is also a place I end up comparing myself unfavorably to others. Especially now. I haven't worked out for two weeks because I'm not supposed to use my legs. Watching other people lift is bittersweet. The vein procedure I had has caused me some pain, and I've put on 5# just sitting around doing nothing. I'm very afraid that the procedure didn't work and it will have to be repeated...or worse that I'll ultimately require surgery to fix my legs and groin. I'll try squatting again this week, but it could potentially be a very long road back. I need to focus on that, and less on reps for the 'gram. 

I'm on the fence about Snapchat. I don't use it as much as I did previously, but I have a tendency to vomit a lot of stupid shit into my Story. The funny thing is, I really don't ever watch other people's stories, and I don't know if they watch mine. I'm guessing not, because I'm pretty sure nobody really gives a fuck, and that's probably for the best. It's a speedy text-plus-picture format, and I like that, but otherwise...it's just texts that don't stick. Disappearing ink for the modern age.

As far as the ghosting. I deactivated my FB and IG completely for a few days while I decided what I wanted to do with them. I've arrived at let them be active, but idle. I don't want people to think they've been blocked or unfriended, because it's not about y'all. It's about me.

Social media has it's own gravity.

I'm not dead. We're still friends. I'm just going to be over here hiding in plain sight. K? K.

Just like this. 

Life and Lifting Lessons or "Hasta La Vista 72kg"

I made weight for yesterday's powerlifting meet, but only just, and the cut leading up to it was brutal.

I swear it gets smaller every time I wear it.

Saturday was the Wisconsin State Powerlifting meet. Last year's rookie session was my first PL meet and I was terrified. If I hadn't had the support of the 920 Power Club I would never have done something like that. It's difficult to describe how much the support of the team adds to an "individual" sport like PL...at least the support of THIS team. This year was no different. I can honestly say if it hadn't been for the team I probably would've skipped the drive to Racine for yesterday's meet.

I stole this from the FB post. 

These people are fun, supportive, and humble in spite of being really (really) good lifters. We laugh, help each other get in and out of lifting belts, scream "squeeze your ass!" at each other...and random strangers. You want a hype squad? This is the best one out there. 

I had a rough couple of weeks leading up to this meet. I tweaked my back a month or two ago doing banded deadlifts and since then I've been timid with that lift. My squats went from feeling amazing (including hitting a personal best at 215# in November) to being inconsistent and painful thanks to an inexplicably cranky hip and these stupid varicose veins. The cut to 72kg (from like 74, it's not as though I had to cut a LOT of weight) felt almost insurmountable this time around. Saturday morning I drove through blizzard conditions for almost 3 hours to reach the meet venue. It wasn't going to be my best day.

I can't help feeling like I don't deserve this medal.

Strangely, my squats felt amazing on the platform. I was nervous, but I lowered my opener a bit to make sure I would hit it, and I did. My second squat felt fantastic which was almost confusing because they'd felt so shit for weeks. My third squat would've been a meet PR, but I got red lighted for depth. Coach (and others) said it looked plenty deep so I'm left feeling a little robbed...but even that squat felt perfect. 

Bench was another story. I missed a lift I have made 100 times (probably more, actually). I missed it twice. I'd like to blame white-knuckling the steering wheel for 3 hours for this failure, but that's a cop-out. One good thing about that drive? I was so emotionally exhausted after trying not to die that I didn't have the energy to be upset. 

I invoked the name of Jesus a few times, and I'm an atheist. 

Deadlifts were okay. My opener this year was higher than where I finished last year (at the time that was a lifetime PR) and it came right off the floor with little effort. My second dead was fine, I've hit it before and I will again. The third was sort of a YOLO. It would've been a meet and lifetime PR. It came off the floor, but I didn't have it in me to bring it all the way up to lockout. 

A solid deadlift will leave you seeing stars and weak in the knees. 

So will other things. 

Yesterday's total was 10kg higher than last year's total at the same meet and I was 5.2kg lighter. That's an accomplishment, albeit a small one. More importantly I won my category, scoring 12 points for my team. If I'm proud of anything about yesterday, I'm proud of that. 

My competition moniker is "Third Place Amy". Not yesterday at least.

Competing with this Crash of Grhinos is always an enjoyable experience. I came to athletics late in life, so witnessing young women excel at this kind of lifting leaves me in awe. I didn't have the discipline or patience to pursue those kind of goals when I was that age. In addition, there are plenty of women like me who found this sport later...and they are crushing goals and setting records. It's inspirational (and aspirational) for me, but I'm playing the long game. I'll set records when everyone else is dead. Based on my family history, ridiculous longevity is my superpower. Come see me in the 80-89 year old age bracket. 

So what were my lessons? 

1. You can only do your best on any given day, and that's enough. I knew I was going to have a rough meet but I did it anyway. I didn't give up, I adjusted my expectations. That's being a grown up. Live to fight another day.

2. Lifting is cyclical. You go up, you go down. Progress isn't linear, and a step back now doesn't mean a step forward isn't coming. 

3. Life is a lot happier if you can celebrate the successes of your friends as much as you celebrate your own. I am so damn proud of everyone. They accomplished amazing things! I can't wait to see what they do in the future. 

So what's next for me? Well, I'm going to stop trying to be 72kg. I'm going to intentionally gain weight in a controlled manner and see where that takes my total. What I've noticed over the last year is that I feel strongest around 74kg. I realize that's only a 5# swing, but it makes a difference. So I'm going to listen to Alex and put weight back on slowly. Maybe that means I'll be 75-77kg at the end of this experiment, but if I'm also squatting 100kg and deadlifting 135kg? IDGAF.

Not dirty bulking, promise.

At the beginning of February, I'm finally getting my leg veins fixed. This means I won't be able to squat or deadlift for 2-3 weeks. I'll get to wear some super sexy compression garments for a while.

I love how they use people with nice legs to advertise these.

Like anyone with legs like this needs medical level compression.

And not just socks. They don't go up high enough. Since I'm lucky enough to have veins all the way up into my ladygarden, I get to wear long line compression underpants (I will not say panties and you can't make me). You know who makes those? Spanx. Fucking Spanx. I swore I'd never put on shapewear again, and here I am. 

This will all be worth it when the bloodflow to my legs is fixed. With any luck my squats and deads will be better than ever because the blood that became trapped in that maze of conduits to nowhere will get oxygenated and delivered to the appropriate muscle tissue. 

All that blood, just wasted.

While my leg (and ladyparts) recover, I'll focus on the bench press. The stupid fucking bench press. Bring on all the upper body accessories. Lemme get my back in order for tank top season. 

I wish I had Trex arms for bench. I'm more like a condor.

The plan is to put competition on the back burner while I eat, recover, and get stronger. Right now I'm hoping for the Wolf Open once again. That would allow me to test out my bigger (hopefully much stronger) physique and compare it to this past summer as well as give me a baseline as I go into my 42nd year. 

Only good things coming. Onward and upward. 

Behaving Like an Adult or "All My Ideas are Awesome"

I was almost killed by an avalanche of leggings and booty shorts while attempting to clean out my closet the other day. People might say I have a small problem with the purchase of activewear. Professional people. It might be called a compulsion. An addiction, perhaps. I have a similar issue with home gym equipment. 

Both of these items were purchased secondhand, I'll have you know.

A barbell is a girl's best friend.

This video won't embed properly but it's of a PR 215# squat, bro.

I defend myself by saying that I wear said activewear every single day. Sometimes more than one set if I get sweaty enough. I have clothing that is appropriate for lifting, running, yoga, and assorted outdoor activities in winter. The home gym equipment I buy is in near constant use. Some of it is seasonal, but most of it sees action 5-6 days a week. (That's what she said) I may now own a trap bar and a squat safety bar, but I've already used the trap bar and I've had it for less than 24 hours.

Still, I should scale back my spending. I'm a grown up, as evidenced by the fact that I'm supposed to go to the doctor every year now, the word "screenings" has taken on new significance, and I own a pair of cheater glasses for when my squinty old eyes get tired. We're considering buying a vacation home, so I should probably stop making it rain at Lululemon and Titan Fitness.

It's not really this bad. Most of the time.

So I'm a grown up who'd like to own a vacation house, and I have so many gym clothes I almost died under them.  What to do, what to do.  What's that? I also own a dozen pairs of jeans and about 10 pairs of various Frye boots?  I...well, yes. I do. I also have about 10 pairs of scrubs that are in good condition, more if I keep myself from getting too fat. 

I'm going to stop buying clothes and gym equipment. Not a dime to be spent in 2019. 

If I'm perfectly honest with myself, I don't need a goddamn thing wardrobe-wise. Not one thing. I have jeans and sweaters and shirts and dresses and skirts and bathing suits and leggings and tanks and sports bras and coats and any other item of clothing you can name.

I do not need a single item of clothing. Nothing. So I'm going to stop buying clothing. I mean, I always wear the same dozen or so things anyway. I'll purge what doesn't fit and live with my wardrobe as is. My home gym is very complete (fuck, it's better than most commercial gyms), and even if we do settle on a second home I'll have enough equipment to set up a perfectly adequate satellite gym. No more gym equipment.

One caveat: If something I only have one of becomes damaged or destroyed, I can replace it. I only have one singlet, for example, and if it gets ruined I'll get a new one. Otherwise NO PURCHASES. 

I can totally do this. I went two years at one point without purchasing new yarn, and now that's second nature. I barely buy yarn, and when I do I make the item it was purchased for immediately. 

I taught myself to crochet the other day. I'm using up my 

scrap yarn to make a stuffed sheep.

I was going to stop buying Starbucks as well, but I honestly don't spend much there most months. Maybe $10-15/month. I can afford that. 

I feel more responsible already.

What else is news? Oh yes! Insurance is a giant racket designed to confound even the most persistent client. I finally got approval to treat my varicose veins! But only partial approval. And it took FOUR MONTHS to get the partial approval. The doctor's office is trying to suss out what exactly is covered so they can schedule my therapy. Which will be covered as Out Of Network primal screaming. 

The best bit? I've met our out of pocket deductible for this year. So if I can get in this year? It'll be basically free. If I can't? I'll be paying about half the cost out of pocket. Which is bullshit, because I've been working on this since my groin went haywire last May. I'll reiterate-if I were a dude and we were talking about balls? I'd already be fixed. Not fixed, repaired. You know what I mean.  Some pale-faced hetero XY would've rubber stamped that shit on day one "Take care of your balls, my dude, I'll pour one out for the homies"

STUPID VEIN-Y LEGS.

Post procedure I'll have to take 2 weeks off of lifting. That's ill-timed right now as the State Powerlifting meet is January 19th. Now, 2 weeks isn't a tragedy, and I can definitely still compete IF I can get in and get this done right meow. 

Throw me a bone, Blue Cross!

I did spend a little money I didn't need to spend this past week. I got a few units of Botox jabbed into my neck. For my turkey wattle. 

It's just a little wattle right now.

It's supposed to take a week or so to work, so stay tuned...but honestly I think it looks a little better already. I'm also going to require some microneedling of my face for melasma and a few spots of hyperpigmentation that're making me uglier than absolutely necessary at the moment. It might not bother me so much if I wore makeup, but I'm not about to learn to use that shit so I'll try another avenue. File it under preventative self-care. 

As a further slap in the self-esteem, I got a zit in the middle of my forehead yesterday. So old my face is sliding off, but still having breakouts. Oh, Time, you miserable whore. For the record, I'm fine with being a little wrinkly. What I'm not fine with is that goddamn turkey wattle. Not yet. 

I remain social media free (Well, IG and FB, I've never been much for Twitter et al) as I have been since 11/1. I can't say I miss it. In general it makes me feel lonely. Funny, right? It's supposed to make you feel connected, but I end up feeling listless and kind of sad. I've never been a popular person in spite of my delightful personality and FB just reminds me of it. Social media sometimes makes me feel very isolated. As though I'm watching the world instead of participating in it...or simply documenting my life instead of living it. 

Non-participation does have it's drawbacks. I find that people tell you very little directly. It's just sort of assumed you're seeing the highlight reel and you know exactly what's going on in everyone's lives without being told. That's an odd feeling. Also many, many things are run off the FB platform from group meetings to events. I don't see any of that stuff. Fortunately I have a couple of good friends who keep me in the loop on the more awesome things. 

I've successfully navigated the Thanksgiving onslaught in the salt mine, and now it's time to gear up for Giftmas and the end of the year. I am actively cutting weight for the State Powerlifting meet which means I'm about to be thin and grumpy, but I also get to lift heavy things, which helps. 

I've been trying new recipes and trying not to think about how few carbs I'm allowed to eat. 

Sriracha shrimp ramen. Big winner.

I've also been reading The Saxon Stories. Have you watched The Last Kingdom on Netflix? It's that. Also you should totally watch The Last Kingdom on Netflix.

They're really quite good.

So there you have it, all the boring shit I've been up to for the last monthm, and my resolutions for the New Year. Feel free to hit me up. We can have lunch and you can tell me all about the boring shit you've been up to this last month. 

Back into the dark...

Strong is the New Skinny or "Unobtainable Goal is Unobtainable, and I Don't Care"

Every woman knows how she's supposed to look. She knows this, because she's been conditioned. She's been fed the image of perfection from the time she's a little girl. Disney Princesses, Barbie dolls, teen magazines, TV, movies...they all tell us what we're supposed to be.

Her. We're supposed to be her. Tall, willowy, with legs that don't touch. Heidi Klum is 5'9" and around 135#. That's pretty thin. I've been 5'10" and 136 so I know whereof I speak. Of course for me, with these child bearing hips, I still didn't achieve the ideal. I didn't last long at 136, nor should I have. It was not cute.

The last few years there's been a strange dichotomy in the cultural message. We're still bombarded with the Heidi Klum's of the world. Still tall, still walking about on stilt legs that don't know each other. These days she's joined by a different type of ideal. The "body positive" movement that declares STRONG IS THE NEW SKINNY and glorifies women with more muscular figures. Most of my exposure to this is through CrossFit (it was a cult I joined for a while, I'm in recovery). Instead of tall and willowy with divorced thighs we are presented with...

Behold the Dottirs

Ok, so basically the same girl, but with really defined abs and shoulders. Some of society looks at these Nordic Goddesses and thinks "ew, manly", but the remainder is basically salivating over them 24/7. They're all 5'7" and around 150#. So yeah...heavier. But still pretty tall and thin, you dig? I'd lay money that they all wear size small shorts on their perfectly chiseled asses. Me? I'm still 5'10" and more like 164# at the mo. I'm sporting a size L on my squashy backside. These ladies are impressive physical specimens. Strong certainly. Still skinny.

My bad. We're calling it "lean" these days.

Whatever you call it, they're outliers. Heidi Klum? Outlier. All the Dottirs? They're outliers, too. Beautiful, beautiful outliers. I'm never going to be like the outliers. And that's okay.

I did CrossFit for a little over 5 years. I've also done some weightlifting, and lately some powerlifting and strongman type stuff. I spent my twenties trying to achieve that long-limbed gazelle like physique. Mostly by starving myself and running a lot. Never quite made it. When I started doing CrossFit, that morphed into the quest for jacked arms, visible abs, and a squat booty. I got stronger, but I never achieved that ideal CF body. I've been lighter, I've been heavier, but my body shape has remained essentially unchanged. Eh, I've got a little more upper body muscle, my ass is a little higher, but nothing has really changed that much. That breeds it's own sort of body dysmorphia. At this point in my life I'm trying to figure out what I like, and worry less about what others prefer. I'm the one that has to navigate life in this meat suit, after all.

In previous installments, I outlined cutting weight and then attempting to normalize my eating and just try to maintain. I've had sporadic success. I popped up above 75kg and felt fat AF, then cut back down to 71kg for a meet in August (that's 156# for you real Americans) and felt like I might blow away in a stiff breeze. I had a great meet incidentally, setting three meet PRs including a lifetime deadlift PR.

270# ish. I should've gone for more.

After cutting, my macros were creeped up to see where I settle out. Right now I'm hovering around 74kg give or take. I'm eating 165g of protein a day. I read back some older blogs wherein I bemoaned getting 135g of protein a day. Yeah...

As a result of all this protein consumption, I've been getting thicker. 

That thigh is a FULL INCH thicker than it was in April.

The other one is, too...I'm not just squatting with one leg.

This is a far cry from what I used to strive for. I still have a pretty substantial layer of insulation...I mean that shit still jiggles, you dig? But I'm 41 and I think the days of firm thighs are behind me. My clothes still fit, even though I'm up a couple of kilos, and I'm beginning to embrace this new normal. 

Kinda Fit, Kinda Fat and kinda okay with it.

I'm really trying to appreciate my body more. Working in a hospital casts all the things that could be going wrong into sharp relief. I see people my age and younger with serious medical issues every day. The older I get, the more I realize how lucky I really am. Aside from some shitty varicose veins (that's a work in progress, insurance is fun), I don't have any health issues. I'm rarely if ever injured. My body doesn't hold me back from anything, and I know that's rare. I've made some pretty serious strides from a strength standpoint this past year, and from an aesthetic standpoint, too. All I had to do was quit CrossFitting it seems. 

It's weirdly hard to let go of self criticism, because it is what's familiar. The constant monitoring of my weight, measurements, and intake has had an unanticipated effect. I've become more analytical about by body...but less critical. Do I still flip out a little when the scale goes haywire? Oh...hell yeah I do. You don't spend your teens and early twenties getting mooed at without some neuroses sticking around. 

Me when I get above 75kg

That said, I'm much better at looking at my data and realizing...yeah, I ate a shitload of salt yesterday so of course I'm up today. I am better at identifying what I need to do to "fix" things when I start to slip. I'm less ragey about measuring my food. I hate meal prepping less. I don't LIKE it, but I hate it less. I can look at myself in the mirror and feel good about what I see. Except my hair. My hair is shit.

I might be going bald. It's fine. 

Historically, I've not been terribly confident in my ability at a strength athlete. That's changed quite a bit this past year, and the past two months especially. I've started approaching the barbell with more excitement and less trepidation. I'm starting to believe I will squat 100kg and more. When I approach a deadlift, I know that shit is coming off the floor. I feel better about my bench (even though it remains impoverished), and I know staying consistent will pay off in the long run. I'm even kind of enjoying My Fitness Pal these days. Mostly because every time I up my macros it seems vaguely horrified. I can feel it trying to subtly convince me that 1200cal/day is where it's at, with it's little red messages reminding me to "step on the scale and update your weight" and "your goal is to eat less than 190g carbs/day".

So basically I hate-track in MFP. Fucking MFP.

For the record, I'm sitting at 190c/85f/165p as of this week. 

Incidentally, you'd have to swallow a half a cup of semen 

to get the protein available in one egg white.

The next few months should be pretty dull. I might compete Oly...or not. Might do a local Strongman...or not. Might jump into a last minute PL comp to see if I can pull 300# before the end of the year...or not.  Hopefully get my fuckin' veins fixed.  Just focusing on getting stronger for now. Little by little, day by day. 

October kind of snuck up on me. It's 30 day yoga challenge time at Jenstar once again. I made it to day one and have plans for day 2 this evening. I'm working on doing the splits. With luck I won't break a hip. Swole and flexy, or some shit. 

The dog is a huge help, as you see.

I've never done the splits in my life. Anybody wanna bet I never will?

Here's your take home message for today. Love yourself. You might as well. 

The Rock would approve.