Monday, October 8

5a-mini energy bar, c reg, supps
6a-1.25oz Cholula jerky, almond milk latte
630a-taught class (did warm-up, SL/reg wall sits, static lunges, 3rd world squats - stretch based stuff)
8a-2c reg
9a-2c reg
10-4 bacon-wrapped dates, 2oz Cholula jerky, 2c half-caff
1p-3oz salmon, c roasted veg, romaine* salad, large apple, 2 bacon-wrapped dates, supps
320p-3.57m run
415p-1 bacon-wrapped date (last one, someone had to eat it!)
530p-6oz chicken, c spaghetti squash, 2 mini energy bars (forgot supps)
Throughout day-2.5 quarts water

*WOW do your tastebuds change when you cut out the crap! There was some free leftover salad at work, so I took some, and the plain raw romaine actually tasted SWEET to me. Whoa!

Sleep: 8 hours in bed, 845p-445a. Slept pretty solidly, woke naturally without alarm. Nice! Quite tired about 5pm, though.

Body: AM pulls 2x5. PM pulls 2x4. Pulls are feeling super strong! Feeling really good other than digestive system. It's not happy. Too much fat?

My run felt fan-flippin-tastic. Lisa struggled a bit so I dialed it back - but there were literally times I felt like I could run backward in order to match her pace. I certainly couldn't have, of course, but I FELT like it. Yeah! Lower legs were a bit tight about 3m in.

This morning during class I desperately wanted to join in. The warm-up felt SO GOOD, no soreness or tightness from yesterday's lifting, and the class is wonderfully brutal. Left to my own devices, feeling this good would encourage me to dive in head-first into two-a-days or whatever nonsense I could devise. But now I've gained a tiny bit of wisdom from Dustin & realize that doing so would run me into the ground juuuust in time to feel like shit this weekend. It even took me a while to truly make the connection to feeling this good because I am coming off a taper week/end. I'm still regularly astounded by how very stupid my gut instincts can be.

Brain: Awesome. Hop came home for a full night of sleep last night (bet he feels fantastic today!) so I had the chance to unload a brain dump last night and am feeling a little less overwhelmed.

Gaining perspective on the eating, as well: while my brain is freaking out about potential weight gain due to all these fat cravings - if I were measuring performance, I'd be kissing Steve's feet. 100# bench? 6 road miles that felt like buttah? Come on, Sabrina! Perspective: it does a brain good.

Got a really incredible compliment from LaTresse when I wished her luck with her new position. It pretty much made my day:
You are a sweetie! Thanks for your kind words. I wish I could be around to watch you fly! The growth I have seen in you since I have known you has been AMAZING! If I ever become President of a nonprofit, I want to recruit you as my CFO! Stay true to yourself and keep giving back.

Quote:
I am tired of tight Achilles tendons and plantar fasciitis. I am no longer waiting for better conditions, a more resilient body, or relentless motivation. I am doing this!

I am the bolus of hastily chewed sustenance caught in your throat. I am out in the wind-driven rain. I am unraveled, unglued and unchecked. I am what your mother warned you about. I am safe as milk! I am a thundering herd of savage bearcats. I am the fallen weakling child with skinned knees. I am Papa, taking no mess! I am standing in the corner behind you, dancing like a fool. I AM TOUGHER THAN A BAG OF HAMMERS! I am throwing out the rule book. I am the dry, ruddy leaves underfoot. I AM AUTUMN'S DETRITUS! I am smiling and nodding in your direction, hoping we'll make it. I am done with pleasantries. I am all time wasted, brought to bear in this moment. I am not what I expected. I am what your face looked like before your grandparents were born. I am better left unsaid. I am the lost and found from some parallel universe. I am Jupiter, the great gas giant! I am deadly un-serious about this. I am stuck in my own craw. I am pulled along by the Great Magnet, step by step by step. I am determined. I AM HEALTHY MADNESS! I AM RUNNING!

I am all of this and I am none of this. Serious fucking business.

-Greg Pettito, karate poet (that's how I think of him, anyway)

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