I completely forgot that Monday at noon is a really busy time at the gym. Most of the treadmills were in use, which is rare. Wind Breaker is on elliptical #1 and the good cup holder is on #3. I get on that machine and tap in Program 1. It's my least favorite because it has a lot of low elevation pedaling, which I find more difficult and that slows me down. I don't make it to 2.8.
Hammer-grip pull-ups surprise me today and I'm able to get one more rep for each of my sets. I feel pretty strong today, even if I'm not doing my cardio best. Of course, I had to wait a few minutes while some guy I've never seen before does a quick stretch (it IS a Stretch Cage after all), and then maybe 5-6 pull-ups. Usually dudes use the actual pull-up handles situated at assorted bench/squat cages throughout the free weight area. I'm not only too short to reach these handles, but my tiny hands can't completely grip the diameter of the bar. I find that one little thing to be critical in being able to pull myself up.
Of course, I have unusually small hands and fingers... and no amount of exercise will make my hands and forearms more muscular. I've tried and only succeed in giving myself tendonitis. Something in my genetics gives me average body length, thighs and upper arms, but much smaller forearms, calves, hands, and feet. Sometimes I feel like a starfish.
The step machine I climb up doesn't appear to be working: the console is dark. Ugh. The plug probably got kicked out. I check it and trace the cord back to the bottom of the machine, pull it and reinsert. The console lights up like magic. Afterward, I get another set of pull-ups. Then off to the cross-trainer. Then a final set of pull-ups. Throughout this entire workout, the one thing I feel is rage. Anxiety converted into kinetic energy which translates as rage. I remember using anger to fuel my gym forays when I was much younger. And for the most part, it was very successful: I got stronger and reshaped my body.
I don't take my anger out on people around me although secretly I'm seething. When I chat I'm always civil because most people are nice enough, even if they're stupid. They have their own problems, like the unexpected passing of a parent. So I'm sympathetic and pleasant. But inside, I'm raging. Don't get in my way at the gym: I might bite your head off and I won't be sorry.
I read an interesting article about slow-motion strength training. I'm tempted to try it, but then I remember that my gym doesn't have that brand of equipment, MedX. I also wonder what the effects of such training has on glaucoma sufferers like myself. No one can answer that question because it hasn't been asked of the few proponents of this approach. But if you'd like to read the article, click here.
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