Thursday, May 23, 2013


Did my first lifting session at the new gym this morning.  I've lost 40 pounds off my squat, which does kinda make me want to cry, but I'm mostly just charged up on the rushing endorphins of post-lift.  It stabilizes my mood, boosts my focus.

The gym is hot and a little sweat-smelling and kinda bare-bones, which suits me just fine.  The squat rack is in a back room, which is great, and that back room has a light that works on a notably insensitive motion-sensitive timer.  I like it there.  They are going to leave me alone until I'm a regular, which is exactly what I want.  Although the conversations I overhear are going to be substantially more irritating than the ones in the Bed-Stuy Y weight room.  Park Slope, why you gotta Park Slope all the time like that?

I worked in with a dude whom I think I offended because I assumed he was warming up when in fact he was doing working sets.  I kind of enjoy working in with men, just because I think there's an expectation that men and women's strength differs wildly and it's kind of nice when, actually, no, I can work at that weight.  His form was way better than mine (ass-to-grass, which was impressive just because it was good and also because many, many dudes do half-squats with an ostentatious belt and a groaning bar and pat themselves on the back for their pretend-squat "PRs," so, props, bro!  Sorry about the other thing!) and I was intimidated; I had to bite back some self-justifying faux-casual remark about how long I've been out of the gym.  But I could feel my body remember how a squat works as I worked through my sets.  Back tight, sit back sit back sit back, spread the floor, knees out, drive up, core tight.  It came back quickly, and I think the weight will come back pretty quickly, too.  I'd like to see if I could be back at least to 135 by the end of June (I was squatting 150 before the hiatus).  My vanity really enjoys loading the 45s.

I overhead-pressed the bare bar (DAMMIT—and the last set was more flex than force; that is almost all the way back to square one—though I remember when I couldn't get through a set of shoulder presses on the machine with ten-pound plates), and instead of deadlifting, rowed a rather pathetic 50 (loaded 65, did one set, not a chance—2.5 on each side!  So sad!).  My legs shook on the stairs down to the locker room.

But I feel great.  I housed a diner breakfast on my way home, including a piece of fake-buttered toast and all the home fries, and BABY I AM BACK.

I am probably going to be immobilized with soreness tomorrow, but before that, I am going to take my tough fat ass and my cute fatkini to that spa bachelorette party tonight, and I guarantee that I feel better about that post-lifting than I would if I hadn't lifted today.  It's not a "I have been to the gym, so at least I am working on it!" apologist thing.  It's just a different feeling about my body.  I don't know exactly how to articulate it.  I do look better to myself in the mirror after lifting than before, but that's not about my actual body (although I thought I could see the pump in my shoulders today?  Maybe a little?), because it can't make much if any actual difference.  It just makes me feel better.

Lifting weights makes everything feel better.

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