This entire year has been one long, unbreakable drag of suckage. It’s draining, it’s discouraging, and I’m pretty sure it’s our fault. We’ve been dipping our toe into the hot garbage sea for the last few years and it’s probably time we jump in.
Don’t believe me? Well, then you’re a fancy pants, Flanders. I’ve been burning the candles at both ends and pretending to enjoy when my fingers get scabby. My diet consists of bad food and alcohol. Call me crazy, but my mental health is likely a result of my physical health.
So yeah, 2020… it sucks. This past two weeks have been absolutely exhausting. I’ve been sick, and then unable to health properly from my sickness and so then I’ve been miserable. This is usually when I say that it’s okay, and give some little moment of brevity, but instead I just want to say that my chest still feels like I just finished an anxiety attack.
I didn’t. I was just sick.
But no, not COVID. Just a Flu. Somehow, that makes me angry too. I went through all this misery, all this feverish drama – and it’s just a glorified cold.
Consider this blog post as my venting. We’re getting open here.
I couldn’t walk up the stairs without panting. Each night, I was a sweaty mess of slowly shrinking man. No appetite, barely the ability to taste, and dehydration like a desert crow covered in dust.
Anyways, I’m over this year. I ordered my favorite food and couldn’t finish it. Drank my favorite wine and couldn’t… just kidding, I drank the bottle.
14 days until I was able to workout. Today, I returned to the gym for a short, easy, workout. At least, in theory.
30 reps each:
Deadlifts – 95 lbs
Push press – 45 lbs
Kettlebell swings – 44 lbs
Hang from the Pull-up Bar for 30 seconds
*Only work on odd minutes. Even minutes rest to try not to cry or hate yourself.
I didn’t cry, but I panted like a cat in heat.
Literally, I wheezed with a diablo-esque anger by minute 9.
3… 2… 1… GO!
I should have warmed up better. 95 lbs is supposed to be a light deadlift. I just hit a 465 lb max deadlift on my birthday (10/2) but somehow these 95 lbs are making my back shake like an earthquake. Sidebar: another sucky thing from 2020, UTAH HAD AN EARTHQUAKE!
It’s miserable, but I’m able to get the 30 reps finished just as the first minute ended.
Oh good. Air squats.
On Tuesday, I struggled to stand up out of a chair after being seated for less than an hour.
Today, I’m going to try to complete 30 air squats in less than 1 minute.
I did it, too. My knees creaked like an 18th Century Ballroom Floor in a Gothic Novel, but those bad boys didn’t fail me until my rest minute.
Feeling strong, yo.
I thought about leaving the weight on the bar and going for some strength in 2020. Hit that 95 lb strict press like my manhood depends on it.
I unloaded the bar and hit 30 reps. Sets of 15-10-5. Again, finishing just as the minute ended. I’ve set it up pretty well. But dude, my arms feel smaller than before. In 2020, my arms shrunk and I lost my butt. I have a dadbutt now. Death to Dadbod has turned into Erasing the Body entirely.
I don’t even know why I programed the KB swings.
This was a bad choice. It’s caused a demoralizing effect. My lungs are on fire, I’m wheezing, and I’m about to fall over my feet like a terrible Giants QB.
Before I get to rep 30, the timer goes over.
I’m at rep 26.
That off minute was really discouraging, too. I stared at that 44 lb KB and thought about how long I’ve got to be moving to not drop the weight and still be unable to complete 30 reps in a minute.
Still, I pick that darn thing up and finish those last 4 reps before walking over to the pull-up rig.
I’m going to hang here, just to feel the air re-enter into my lungs.
And they do. Slowly coming back in. I don’t hate everyone.
I hate 2020, but I’m still here. Hanging. Living.
That’s how this year is gonna end, too. Me, you, us… recovering from a rough patch.
I supposed that’s where we can find the joy.