After this workout, I sat on my couch in silence, sweat dripping from my brow and crashing against my floorboards. Defeat? Dejection? Disgrace? None of these describe what I was feeling. My brain was empty, not a single, solitary thought in sight. Just a general numb physical sensation all over my body like I was immersed in still cold water. I lifted my head and was startled by a faint, distant voice that slowly starting to come closer and closer. I could almost make out what it was saying and then bam! the 8 dollar Casio keyboard-driven beat kicked in and there was my answer to what I was feeling...
Back to lifee, Back to reaality; Back to lifee, Back to re-allityyy.
There is no statement, person, song, movie, or story that could better describe the sinking realization that rolled into my psyche than the early 90's R&B supergroup that overshadowed the sexiness and edge of Salt n' Pepa and that to date has sold more than 3 times as many albums as Nickelback (which is, sadly, a lot): En Vogue.
For the last 4 and-a-half weeks my outlook on my sex appeal has been soaring. Sure, there had been some ups-and-downs, but the general trajectory had been through the roof. At some point in this absurd growth of self-confidence I should have foreseen this windfall; I should have put in place the proper safeguards; I should have realized that this sort of reckless ego-inflation could not go on forever, but it felt so good. Foresight and responsibilty did not matter. My self-worth was as big as it had ever been. But, a lot of this "worth" was based on false returns - sure, I had gotten somewhat bigger, but not nearly big enough to support this over-inflated self-evaluation. The bubble bursted today. It was my Black Tuesday. I came back to life, back to reality. I desperately need a bail-out. My future plan is to make sure my self-image matches my actual physical growth. (And, yes, I just compared a proper self-image to how a succesful and efficient capitalist economy should operate).
(Do you remember in Garden State when Natalie Portman was showing the aloof and lovable Zack Braff how she likes to feel unique by doing a weird sound effect and dance that no one has ever done? Well, I just did that with the above paragraph: I am willing to guarantee you no human being on the planet has ever compared their self-image to both the recent economic crisis and the 90's R&B supergroup, En Vogue.)
Needless to say, the workout did not go super-well. I gave it my all. I enjoyed, but hit a wall; muscle fatigue settled in and would not leave. This routine was much more intense than the earlier ones, which rotated between three muscle groups so as not to bog each group down. This routine attacked your biceps like a flesh-hungry Nazi-Zombie. In the last half of the routine, I was able to push out a mind-boggling 1-2 curls for each exercise. Either way, I will get better at this exercise and it will rue the day it ever crossed my path.
Highlights: We were doing strip-sets at the end - you start on the highest weight and curl it to failure and then move down a weight and so on. I started on 30's, pumped out a 1/4 curl then went to failure; moved on to 20's, pumped out 1 with Millard spotting me; moved onto 15's, shook them against my hips a little; and, lastly, moved onto 10's and pumped out a mind-boggling 4 1/2 reps. Badass.
State of Mind: In the initial chunk of muscle growth exercises we sucked...bad. We eventually saw some serious progress, which is the lifeblood for workout motivation. The same will occur with this one in due time - it merely represents even more motivation to become a beast of a human being that overpowers woman's inhibitions and destroys men's egos.
Rating: There was nothing extreme about this effort so we can throw away the 'x': P32.
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