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| And eat bananas, drink little tiny sodas and learn how to drive with your knees! |
2. Alternate between heavy negatives on the bench and heavy (h-e-a-v-y!) dumbbell presses.
3. Don't pout. Own up to it and just do it.*
4. Fockus. Laugh. Relax. Then really get your shit together and FOCKUS.
5. Throw in some bikram yoga, then go back to #1 and do it all again.
Yeah, not so easy, but that's the short and shorter of it. For weeks now we've been killing ourselves trying to figure out how the heck to improve on the bench. We've read everything (OK, I've read and G has gone along with my crazy ideas and experiments), tried all that seemed reasonable (and there's a lot that didn't) and really worked hard this past month. So hard in fact, that I haven't had time to blink, much less post anything here. Sorry dear reader!
And now, here we are, on the eve of the eve of the last fit test of the season. One more, and we're clear to hit the water in a sunny southern state for a delicious week of hellish training at the get-your-shit-together hands of our coach. The last few sessions have not paled from some of our earlier experiences. Far from it. For example, channeling both Coach A and my pal Larry (former Marine, hard as nails with a southern twang) in my head I picked up the 60lb dumbbells and went for the flat bench. I managed to get the weights on my thighs, then to my chest and laid (lied? reclined?) down. Now flat, I was ready to lift the suckers up - but I needed a little help. G was there, right and ready as ever.
"I don't know if I can help you," she said. "Those are HEAVY."
"Of course you can," I said. "You're a bloody RHINO."
"OK, let's go."
She leaned forward, ready... hands at my wrists.. but as we tried to go up, something went terribly wrong. Suddenly I couldn't breathe. Something was mashing in my face. Something soft and warm and... i had to drop the weights quickly. What the heck happened? Weelllll.... my nose got caught in her ample chest and guess what.... fits of pee-your-pants laughter began before the weights fully left my hands. Even one of the normally super-serious guys couldn't contain himself.
Five minutes later, I was able to try again.
"You're going to try the same weight?" G asked incredulously.
"Hell yeah. Just keep your boobs outta my face!"
G shrugged. "OK, let's do it."
We did it. So awesome.
Our routine has also now come to include bikram yoga. Now I have always hated yoga, but I can't live without this! Neither of us can. We missed our once-weekly-session last week... but today we were back. And oh-sweet-heavenly-angels we about died today. I'm not sure what G's problem was, but I was exhausted and the large snack I had 30 minutes prior was pretty poor judgement. Then there was this horrendous incense stick burning next to my overly-sensitive-nose which made me nauseous even before the sweat had a chance to glisten and glide down my skin.
90 minutes later, as we rolled into our last savasana (aka, aptly enough, dead body pose), G mouthed "we survived!" at me. I'm thinking, really, I think I'm pretty much dead and moved onto the next life here..., but I blinked at her in feeble agreement. And somehow made it out of the room, into my clothes and out to my car. I don't really remember the ride home...
*Credit for the voice in my head goes to Coach A on this one. Actually, probably 1-3 if I want to be totally honest. But I don't. I want to be able to say that I figured some of this out myself. And #2 goes to my friend Larry who is just a freakin' beast and who must know what he's talking about, cuz 425 ain't no joking matter if you ask me.
