Sunday Bacon and PR

Posted on July 16, 2012 by tosabarbell

It’s been long enough since we’ve had bacon for breakfast that we were significantly shamed. So after breakfast sammiches, we headed to the gym. I had a session while Bigg did some Log Pressing.

He PR’d, 1×5@380#. Bacon helped, I’m sure.

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Friday Jams

Posted on July 13, 2012 by tosabarbell

I’ve had one decent nights sleep in the past week or so and last night’s is a record breaker for awful. But I need to squat this morning and I’m determined to stay on track as the weights are finally coming up as I rehab my back.

So I need espresso. Now. That’s easy. I also need good music. The music part is tricky. I can’t have something too metal or it will give me a full blown headache before I train and right now the baby lack-of-good-sleep headache that’s walking around with me is tolerable.  I can’t have something too mellow or I’ll just want to lay down on the platform and take a much needed nap.

So I went with Serj Tankian’s Occupied Tears. The slow start that ramps up to an acceptable bang, with a soft break in the middle, and a kick ass ending without going overboard is just what I need. Plus, someone actually spent time on putting together a decent video. Win/win.

Enjoy your weekend.

The worst thing in the world is to try to sleep and not to.

 F. Scott Fitzgerald

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What’s your bench?

Posted on July 12, 2012 by tosabarbell

It is inevitable, that when someone (mostly bro’s) hears that I strength train or compete in a strength sport will ask, “What’s your bench?” It’s nauseating. Of course I lie. Why? Because it’s a bullshit question. Ask me what my squat is; or where my PR deadlift occurred; or my worst Highlander event. Ask me ANYTHING worthwhile to show me that you know your way around the strength training world. But if all you know is a partial bench press, then my answer is usually, “5# more than you dude.”

Bench lies aside, I’ve been curious for quite some time why folks play make believe on the internet with their numbers. I’ll be the first to admit, I’m naive on the subject. Years ago, I whined to Stef how a girl who weighs about 30 pounds less than me, with less athletic talent, can post numbers bigger than mine on her training log. Her answer? “She’s lying dude!” (BTW, don’t call me dude. I’m not a dude. I’m a chick.)

Anyways.

My response? “Huh? People lie on their logs about their weights? Why?” Which got an eye roll and that was the end of the conversation. News to me. I don’t get it. I have literally been on the competition floor with people who’ve later lied about the amount of weight they moved. It boggles my mind. Telling some douchebag bro that I bench more than him is one thing, lying to others in the strength world makes you this:

People, you own your training. Numbers are only as important as you make them out to be. My PR squat is the warm up of many other women. Do I care? No. It’s my PR. Is it humbling to bench 100# less than a local Strongwoman who trains at the gym while I rehab my back? Yup. Will I EVER catch her (real this time) bench? Nope. But my numbers are my own and I’ll own them. They may not be as impressive as I’d want them to be, but lying just makes me a douche AND weak. Unacceptable.

Deadwood quote of the day:

“Ya, glad I taught you THAT fucking word.”

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Just Say No

Posted on July 11, 2012 by tosabarbell

It’s tough being a fat kid. By that I mean if I actually ate the Prawns in creme served on a ginormous home made crouton pictured above, I’d have gained three pounds. I’m not talking about three pounds of bloated water weight that will go away before I even get on the plane to come home, I mean three pounds that stay with me until I’m done walking the earth. OR I’ll need to push the prowler for a mile or two, daily, to work it off. The above dish was for one of our coaches who was gearing up for his next powerlifting meet and needed to gain weight. Boys suck.

I’ve been resigned to the fact that I’m an easy gainer for a while now. It’s how I’m built. It’s also extremely difficult for me to take weight off so letting things go for a week or two isn’t an option. ADD in the fact that we travel each month and have opportunities to enjoy very good food all over the country and it’s a recipe for my waistline disaster.

It’s not fair. I train hard. I’m consistent with conditioning. I push my prowler in addition to other conditioning and I still can’t eat like a fat kid wants. I want bread. I want sugar. I want JUST ONE of these amazing bars a friend (who only lives a few blocks away) just made:

Photo: Surely one.....

But I can’t. Nor can we (Bigg and I) bring home a tub of mouthwatering homemade strawberry sauce to put on ice cream we had at another friend’s house last weekend. (Poor Bigg.) Because what happens is that exposure to unadulterated sugar sets something off in my head. I start to negotiate with myself that “just a bite” is all I need. Suddenly, “just a bite” turns into “just one.” See the pattern?

I’ve trained and coached other fat kids. They come in all forms. Twenty something men who think because they train, they can eat anything they want. Dude! You’re a fat kid, cut it out with the carbs. And the group I most feel sorry for, women who want to eat like a fat kid and later complain that their training isn’t working. I’ve had to fire a couple of those women and it broke my heart. But if you’re not willing to try outside of the gym, I’m not going to listen to you blame me for my part not working.

Some of us are just built that way. It sucks. But it’s fact so we need to deal. Will I turn my back on those delicious bars every time? Nope. But I can recognize when my carb intake starts to get into the danger zone and dialing it in again will help. So this isn’t my week for bars; or more strawberry sauce; or more english muffins with my eggs; or…well you get the picture.  Today is protein; and more protein; and some scrumptious fat; and then more protein. And I’ll hope *COUGHMO* that those bars, or others like them, are made again when I’m more dialed in so I CAN have one.

Just one.

To me, life without veal stock, pork fat, sausage, organ meat, demi-glace, or even stinky cheese is a life not worth living.

Anthony Bourdain

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