Today was leg day once more. I started, as usual, on the treadmill with a 5 minute warm-up, followed by short sets of sprints with breaks in between, all in all spending about 20 minutes on the treadmill.
I did 10 sets today, starting out with 17 kph and a 10% incline. (17 kph is really slow for a sprint? Sure, I can run at that speed for several minutes continuously - without the incline! At 10% incline, 30 seconds on a good day, steps up the game to a whole new level. Try it!)
I did 3 sets at these settings, then lowered the incline and ramped up the speed. Each set lasting to failure, having to grab handrails and jump out, trying to last at least 20 seconds each time, counting down to the start of the next set, drill sergeant style as usual - not giving a shit what others might think, I'm a pro and it helps me motivate myself.
"30 seconds - mark! - Get your ass ready, for nuclear war! In 20! Ten! Five! Go!!!"
Your last battle on Earth, oh yeah right!
Do everything like it's your last battle on Earth - make it count. For it might always quite possibly be your last one.
This one's from Carlos Castaneda. And when you find good advice, you best keep it.
The squats then, for some reason, didn't go so well for me, at least at one point. I did them right after the sprints, but that's nothing unusual.
I did a warm-up set, 20 reps with 90 kg barbell. Then I increased to 110 kg, which ain't no really heavy weight for me. I've done free squats with 150 and on the Smith machine up to 180 kg,but then just some 5 reps or so.
I meant to do 16 with the 110 kg, 15 of which went just fine. At #16, sudden and complete failure - absolutely no idea how or why. I couldn't get up again to rack the barbell, then lost balance, the bar crashing down onto the horizontal side rails of the squat rack and me hanging underneath it, on my knees, in a brief moment of shock. I quickly realized everything was fine, praise Satan.
"Praise Satan," was what I then said indeed as I got up, leaning on the bar, catching my breath. And next I said, "Fuck the Pope!" (Typical expression of mine.) In fact I'm not quite sure about the order in which I uttered both things, but I think it was this one. I'm not quite sure either if anyone noticed but I didn't care.
I suddenly felt really blessed, knowing this could have ended really disastrously, and knowing also pretty well who was watching over me.
I had to take off 50 kg of weight in order to be able to rack the bar back in position. Then I put the weights back on as before and proceeded to do another set with the same weight as before.
My Master doesn't save me for quitting...
That next set went perfectly fine again. Then a guy showed up to ask, in German, how many more sets I was doing. I understood and said, "Two more."
"Two?" he asked, and I confirmed again. He walked away to probably do something else in the meantime.
Two more sets I did, but after stacking the weight up to 130 kg.
I continued all the rest of the workout as usual, feeling strong again. No idea what had caused that momentary lapse and near-accident. Maybe it was meant this way, for me to realize something.
I had had another nightmare the other night, of my fucked-up childhood. The same way all my nightmares are - they're never scary, of the waking-up-screaming kind, but instead they're just absolutely depressing, either of being trapped with my "birth family" and the stupid, pointless fights, or imprisoned in the juvenile psychiatry where they had put me; my nightmares are of indignity and failure, the same indignity and failure that once was my life.
This particular dream was of the psychiatry once more. The only good thing about it was that my last thought in the dream was, "If only I could be back at my home, with my colored lights and all the things I cherish, and at peace." Then I woke up, and there I was!
I fortunately no longer have these nightmares as often as I used to. But this particular one, I think, may have come from recent worries I've had. Worries about being never good enough, about possibly still being seen as that same indignity and failure I once was. About being unworthy.
After today's near-accident, things felt strangely changed. I felt happy... blessed. I somehow felt my Master's touch on me. His watchful presence.
Being a pro athlete I know very well that you always have to respect the weights and handle them with care. Handling seriously heavy weights can't be taken lightly.
It can be dangerous even when you do everything right, as demonstrated by the incident. As is riding the bicycle. I heard that some decades ago, many cyclists died in traffic and they held rallies to have the roads made safer for them, which was eventually done. That was long before I was even born, back in the 70s I guess. It's much safer nowadays, but nothing's ever perfectly safe. In particular for the kid who has to always ride faster than everyone else. That same kid who has to lift heavier than everyone else. :D
And then ultimately, everything comes down to faith. Being a mere mortal, so much is beyond your control. Who will you put your faith in? To whom will you entrust your fate? Your life, your soul?
I'm truly grateful that to me personally, the answer to these questions is above and beyond all doubt.
Faith is everything.
Honor and loyalty.
Praise Satan!
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