Title says it all. It's not the same as it used to be, though... But I guess considering that it went through the equivalent of having a massive stroke, then slipping into a coma for a month to be completely resuscitated in an afternoon, I really can't complain.
Ok, this is hilarious. Well, this part isn't (it's awesome) - girls have been talking to me (and giving me "the eyes") more often. The other day this girl who was ringing up my food at the Stop and Shop was talking to me, and she seemed a bit anxious. I mean the kind of anxiety that you get when you talk to a hot person (not to be self-aggrandizing here). And, being on the opposite end of that anxiety in turn mad me anxious. And that, my friends, is friggin' hilarious.
I think I'm gonna write a post about why I decided to join the PCP, soon. It seems appropriate given that we've all been grinding our wheels lately.
And on that note, I think I'll just touch base on something that is actually very, very related; why I decided to start smoking weed. And (for the reason that I love to talk about it and because I can't remember if I mentioned it already) why I quit.
I got high long before I ever got drunk. My grandfather once asked me why did I start doing either of those things. The answer for the former is because I was at a family wedding, and everyone else was doing it. The reason for the latter is because I was incredibly anxious, and I wanted a way to fix that. Also, I wanted to push the boundaries of my consciousness. That's pretty much it.
Of course, being so terse leaves a little bit out. As a personal testimony, out of all the drugs I've done (and I've done a few; more that I'd like to admit over such a public channel), weed is the safest and least harmful. Hands down. Safe than alcohol. Hell, there were days where I smoked and then the next day I felt amazing - a skip in my step. That has never happened with alcohol.
Of course, If I ever had any anxiety while drunk, it didn't spiral into a torturous hell that seemed to last for hours. With this in mind, it's kind of strange why I used it for the purpose of ridding myself of anxiety.
And that brings us to the reason why I quit. I've only had three REALLY bad highs. Two were close together, when I was a novice smoker and they were anxious in a "dumb" sense. They were just base anxiety. Fear of the flesh. The last time I smoked, I had a really bad high, and this was intelligently horrifying. Fear of the mind, the soul.
I've been doing some heavy learning since I started smoking - And for most of the time it was a relatively spiritual thing. I started smoking around the time I ditched Christianity and adopted this Buddhist-like disposition. That was October 06, and since then I was pouring spiritual and philosophical ideas into my mind. The heaviest of this was this past fall/spring, when I discovered Zen is Stupid, Radiolab, and a bunch of weird-ass shamanistic shit. So, at the time of my last smoke-session, I had all this information about psychology, spirituality, consciousness, and other miscellaneous crap. All this info serving the purpose of getting to the bare root of it all, seeing beyond the symbols. This was the kindling and the weed was the flame.
I didn't go over the edge and have a panic attack - and like most of the highs of that time, it was like blasting off in a rocket shit; a very long and rocky ride followed by an amazing tranquility.
All weed does is move you out of yourself. It takes the environment that houses the awareness that is you, and fucks it up slightly. Also, and I've only heard this once from a random but credible sounding source, it launches your subconscious into your conscious. I gotta say that this is a pretty good explanation for what I experienced on many occasions. I've often felt that, while high, I was peering into the background programming of myself.
You get back what you put into it. In the beginning, I didn't have much to give. At the end I gave more than I could accept in return, and it freaked me out.
Though, as it stands, that last night was one of the most amazing nights of my life. An event like that gives you pretty clear insight, at least on a subconscious level. I'm pretty sure that because of that horrifying night, I decided to sign up for the PCP.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Boot to the face.
What a wonderful day today was.
The series of events are as follows. I wake up at around 9 am. I eat my before workout food. I stretch, and then begin to work out. Less than a minute into the jumps, my rope snaps in half. I don't even know what happened. One minutes I was jumping and the next I was getting hit in the back of the head by two whips. Dumbfounded, I decide not to waste time and hop on my bike. I come back a half out later and try the pull up. I couldn't even do one properly. Utterly pathetic. I spent about a half-hour flipping out and trying to yank myself up to the bar. I just couldn't do it. I actually don't think my bar is wide enough (or high enough, or the kung-fu sit ups) I have no idea how I'm going to fix that.
So, I give up on that and decide to add more reps and sets to the lawn mower. I do that pretty well. Then I go to do the pull-downs and my mother fuckin' resistance band snaps. This was the point where I lost it.
I moved on to the chair-dips, and added more onto those because it was now the only one I could do. Then I did the kung-fu sit ups and those were pathetic. I was getting nothing out of them and I could barely do any. So damn frustrating.
It was at this point I decided to give up. A little bit later I emailed Patrick, saying how it felt like I hadn't made any progress, and that I couldn't go on any longer, and then I went on a bike ride that lasted for about 2-3 hours while listening to blues.
I came back, checked my email, and this is what Pat sent me:
"Whoa, meltdown! Awesome dude,
The series of events are as follows. I wake up at around 9 am. I eat my before workout food. I stretch, and then begin to work out. Less than a minute into the jumps, my rope snaps in half. I don't even know what happened. One minutes I was jumping and the next I was getting hit in the back of the head by two whips. Dumbfounded, I decide not to waste time and hop on my bike. I come back a half out later and try the pull up. I couldn't even do one properly. Utterly pathetic. I spent about a half-hour flipping out and trying to yank myself up to the bar. I just couldn't do it. I actually don't think my bar is wide enough (or high enough, or the kung-fu sit ups) I have no idea how I'm going to fix that.
So, I give up on that and decide to add more reps and sets to the lawn mower. I do that pretty well. Then I go to do the pull-downs and my mother fuckin' resistance band snaps. This was the point where I lost it.
I moved on to the chair-dips, and added more onto those because it was now the only one I could do. Then I did the kung-fu sit ups and those were pathetic. I was getting nothing out of them and I could barely do any. So damn frustrating.
It was at this point I decided to give up. A little bit later I emailed Patrick, saying how it felt like I hadn't made any progress, and that I couldn't go on any longer, and then I went on a bike ride that lasted for about 2-3 hours while listening to blues.
I came back, checked my email, and this is what Pat sent me:
"Whoa, meltdown! Awesome dude,
Slow your roll man. Believe it or not, how you're feeling is very much like how I felt around the Day 60 mark. You've been working really hard, and your body is getting fatigued. Couple that with not enough sleep and you'll be a wreck.
Take a few days off if you need to. Consider this meltdown as a kind of sickness, and do as I advised if you caught a cold.
The weight gain is a good thing. 15 pounds is awesome, even if some of it goes the love handles. You're in the middle of a major body revision, and it's going to take up to two years to really convince your body that you're not satisfied with being an ectomorph. That doesn't mean 2 years like the PCP. These first 90 days are like someone giving you a push as you take off on a long bike ride. In the final month we'll talk about how to transition to more sustainable strategies.
Chat me up when you have the time man, and don't freak out, what you're going through is totally normal. If not for privacy concerns I'd forward you all the other meltdown emails I've received over the years. You're cool man!"
That, I admit, really chilled me out. So I leave you with this: a little while ago I thought to myself that I'm probably not going to be where I want to be at the end of the PCP. And that's ok. I realized that this is a starting point, a first step. Every house needs a good foundation. The PCP is that foundation.
Edit: Forgot to add the pics.
Rope - http://imgur.com/9tyxD.jpg
R. band - http://imgur.com/eF0XC.jpg
Edit: Forgot to add the pics.
Rope - http://imgur.com/9tyxD.jpg
R. band - http://imgur.com/eF0XC.jpg
Monday, July 27, 2009
Weird day
So, today was a little odd. I was hella sluggish all day, and I wasn't quite sure why. The workout nearly killed me. I managed to do everything, but it was all spaced out. No good. Not good at all.
So, after the shoulder fly, only the v-sit and side crunch remained, yet I was feeling a bit nauseous, and ab workouts were the last thing I wanted to do, so I just kind of sat down in a chair in my room and read some of a book. With each second, it was like this little voice kept saying whispering "yo, go lay on your bed" until it was eventually yelling, so I did what it said. I laid down and practically passed out. I wouldn't call it sleep. It started out with me resting, just thinking about shit to pass the time, while still being consciously aware of my body, but I don't know what would have happened if I tried to move. I thought about it, but that thought, "naah, this feels too good, I'll just chill here fore a little bit longer." Then after what felt like five minutes passed, I decided to get up, except it felt like I was waking up from my thoughts. Also, it was at least 20 minutes later. Really strange.
Anyway, I got up, watched some TV for like, 25 minutes before my parents came home and kicked me out of the living room, where I went up to my room and completely destroyed the ab workouts. Well, the v-sit was really hard for some reason, but the side crunch was awesome and I did a couple extra sets. Guess I just needed a nap? The weird thing is that this is becoming a regular thing for me. I've been sleeping later, waking up later, and been needing naps. So strange. Tonight I'm going to go to bed before 12 and try to wake up at 7-ish.
One thing that pissed me off was dinner. A while ago, back in June, I went to cook some chicken I had stored in a plastic bag. It was fine during lunch I think, but when I opened the bag I was hit with this bad smell. Like a punch to the face. So, I go to make dinner, and the chicken smells fine. I start cooking it and it smells faintly like the chicken I tried to cook back in June, but not that bad, so I give it a shot. When it was finished, It smelled fine, but the after taste was similar to that smell. So, after much thought, I decided to toss it. Then I cooked some fresher chicken I bought that day, and it was fine... mostly. One small area of one of the pieces smelled funky, so I washed it pretty well, cooked both pieces up and they were way under my protein requirement. Like, 40 grams.
Oh well, at least Patrick's email was a lift. All the tips he suggested doing I've been doing recently. Blasting hard-core punk rock, visualizing various muscular people, telling myself that I want this. Even telling myself that this is nothing. That this is so damn easy. All of it helps and the fact that It seems like I'm on the right track makes me feel better.
Edit: Awesome, I feel slightly sick. It's probably not from the chicken, but the fact still remains that I feel like shit.
So, after the shoulder fly, only the v-sit and side crunch remained, yet I was feeling a bit nauseous, and ab workouts were the last thing I wanted to do, so I just kind of sat down in a chair in my room and read some of a book. With each second, it was like this little voice kept saying whispering "yo, go lay on your bed" until it was eventually yelling, so I did what it said. I laid down and practically passed out. I wouldn't call it sleep. It started out with me resting, just thinking about shit to pass the time, while still being consciously aware of my body, but I don't know what would have happened if I tried to move. I thought about it, but that thought, "naah, this feels too good, I'll just chill here fore a little bit longer." Then after what felt like five minutes passed, I decided to get up, except it felt like I was waking up from my thoughts. Also, it was at least 20 minutes later. Really strange.
Anyway, I got up, watched some TV for like, 25 minutes before my parents came home and kicked me out of the living room, where I went up to my room and completely destroyed the ab workouts. Well, the v-sit was really hard for some reason, but the side crunch was awesome and I did a couple extra sets. Guess I just needed a nap? The weird thing is that this is becoming a regular thing for me. I've been sleeping later, waking up later, and been needing naps. So strange. Tonight I'm going to go to bed before 12 and try to wake up at 7-ish.
One thing that pissed me off was dinner. A while ago, back in June, I went to cook some chicken I had stored in a plastic bag. It was fine during lunch I think, but when I opened the bag I was hit with this bad smell. Like a punch to the face. So, I go to make dinner, and the chicken smells fine. I start cooking it and it smells faintly like the chicken I tried to cook back in June, but not that bad, so I give it a shot. When it was finished, It smelled fine, but the after taste was similar to that smell. So, after much thought, I decided to toss it. Then I cooked some fresher chicken I bought that day, and it was fine... mostly. One small area of one of the pieces smelled funky, so I washed it pretty well, cooked both pieces up and they were way under my protein requirement. Like, 40 grams.
Oh well, at least Patrick's email was a lift. All the tips he suggested doing I've been doing recently. Blasting hard-core punk rock, visualizing various muscular people, telling myself that I want this. Even telling myself that this is nothing. That this is so damn easy. All of it helps and the fact that It seems like I'm on the right track makes me feel better.
Edit: Awesome, I feel slightly sick. It's probably not from the chicken, but the fact still remains that I feel like shit.
Friday, July 24, 2009
Frustrated
So, It occurred to me that I was doing the pull up completely wrong this entire time. The way I did it was that it worked out my biceps instead of my back. Actually, when it came down to it, all the back exercises seemed to just end up working my upper arms and not my back. And when I tried to do the pull ups properly, it felt like I was just working my shoulders. Very disheartening. The problem is that the door frame is too small, and all the door frames in my house are like that. I think I'll try and find other ways to work my back and do those in some spare time I have.
Today was pretty interesting; I had a weird dream last night. The essential part of it was that I somehow lost the ability to walk, so I went to my place of work to tell my boss, and he said that he would keep me on, but he'd have to pay me less. So that pissed me off - I rolled off in my wheelchair into the parking lot, where I was like, "man, fuck this!" and exerted a ton of effort and stood up. I think that little bit of hardcore-ness was because of the intense chest dips I did earlier in the week. So I walk back into the store, victorious, and am like, "Yo, check it out bitches! I can walk again!" and they were like, "Man, you're full of bullshit..." which also pissed me off.
I don't know about you guys, but dreams leave a taste in my mouth that effects the entire day. I don't find this to be a problem, I feel like it gives each day a different feel, and that's nice.
Especially today, because when I woke up, I felt very bitter and pissed off. Now, while at home, obviously I interact with my family, and that's different than the way I interact with any other person, which means that while I was at home I could just sort of mope about and make my breakfast and not give it much thought. So, then I went to work, with this bad taste in my mouth. Now, yesterday, I had this idea. After analyzing my own behavior over the course of the past two months, I decided to post my conclusion on Facebook. "In my short life one of the things I've learned is that if you're nice to people, even the assholes, good things will happen to you." I got a ton of responses to it. Another effect it had was that it really made me internalize that philosophy.
Of course, the point is that you aren't nice to people because you want nice things to happen to you. It's only if you're nice to people because you care about them; because you want to connect with another human being. Out of empathy.
So, I go to work, I'm a little pissed off, I have this philosophy really internalized and I begin to interact with customers. And I notice a startling dissonance. I intend to be nice, but everything about me is caustic and sharp, and I am shocked by it. I try harder to be nice, and it actually gets worse. Eventually I just cave to the fact that I'm kind of in a bad mood. I don't force a pleasant expression. I simply relax and speak with the intent to connect and be earnest about what I say. Lo and behold, things get better. My mood lifts and by the time I leave I'm walking on fuckin' sunshine.
My mom showed up to give me a ride and she decided to get some groceries while she was there, so I told her I'd wait outside, seeing as how the sun was out. So I popped in my headphones and just chilled on a bench, and it was awesome. It was like I felt the ebb and flow of the world around me. Then this old lady walked up to me and started talking to me, which I welcomed fully. She told me about her grandson in Afghanistan, how she tried to talk him out of joining the military.
This is a huge step forward, in my eyes. For me, I usually feel like there is this "emotional grease" that sticks to my mood. Anxiety, rage, contempt. Sticks to me and nothing usually gets rid of it. Slow breathing, for example, is the equivalent of running hot water over it. Does jack shit. Today, the "grease" was that of contempt, maybe a little rage. The method of removal was equivalent to taking a chisel and scraping that shit off.
To me, this proves that I'm becoming more mindful.
Today was pretty interesting; I had a weird dream last night. The essential part of it was that I somehow lost the ability to walk, so I went to my place of work to tell my boss, and he said that he would keep me on, but he'd have to pay me less. So that pissed me off - I rolled off in my wheelchair into the parking lot, where I was like, "man, fuck this!" and exerted a ton of effort and stood up. I think that little bit of hardcore-ness was because of the intense chest dips I did earlier in the week. So I walk back into the store, victorious, and am like, "Yo, check it out bitches! I can walk again!" and they were like, "Man, you're full of bullshit..." which also pissed me off.
I don't know about you guys, but dreams leave a taste in my mouth that effects the entire day. I don't find this to be a problem, I feel like it gives each day a different feel, and that's nice.
Especially today, because when I woke up, I felt very bitter and pissed off. Now, while at home, obviously I interact with my family, and that's different than the way I interact with any other person, which means that while I was at home I could just sort of mope about and make my breakfast and not give it much thought. So, then I went to work, with this bad taste in my mouth. Now, yesterday, I had this idea. After analyzing my own behavior over the course of the past two months, I decided to post my conclusion on Facebook. "In my short life one of the things I've learned is that if you're nice to people, even the assholes, good things will happen to you." I got a ton of responses to it. Another effect it had was that it really made me internalize that philosophy.
Of course, the point is that you aren't nice to people because you want nice things to happen to you. It's only if you're nice to people because you care about them; because you want to connect with another human being. Out of empathy.
So, I go to work, I'm a little pissed off, I have this philosophy really internalized and I begin to interact with customers. And I notice a startling dissonance. I intend to be nice, but everything about me is caustic and sharp, and I am shocked by it. I try harder to be nice, and it actually gets worse. Eventually I just cave to the fact that I'm kind of in a bad mood. I don't force a pleasant expression. I simply relax and speak with the intent to connect and be earnest about what I say. Lo and behold, things get better. My mood lifts and by the time I leave I'm walking on fuckin' sunshine.
My mom showed up to give me a ride and she decided to get some groceries while she was there, so I told her I'd wait outside, seeing as how the sun was out. So I popped in my headphones and just chilled on a bench, and it was awesome. It was like I felt the ebb and flow of the world around me. Then this old lady walked up to me and started talking to me, which I welcomed fully. She told me about her grandson in Afghanistan, how she tried to talk him out of joining the military.
This is a huge step forward, in my eyes. For me, I usually feel like there is this "emotional grease" that sticks to my mood. Anxiety, rage, contempt. Sticks to me and nothing usually gets rid of it. Slow breathing, for example, is the equivalent of running hot water over it. Does jack shit. Today, the "grease" was that of contempt, maybe a little rage. The method of removal was equivalent to taking a chisel and scraping that shit off.
To me, this proves that I'm becoming more mindful.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
God damn I'm tired....
Today was rather epic. My workout was really intense. I totally pushed pass muscle failure several times. I guess because of that it's not really muscle failure. In anycase, it was awesome.
I was going to write something about the difference between knowing something and feeling something, but I'm too damn tired.
In the past couple of days, my overall attitude to the PCP has been rather lackadaisical. I don't mean to say I'm becoming apathetic or lazy towards it. Just more relaxed. And I assume that due to this relaxation, I was able to have a more intense workout.
Who knows?
I totally ended today with reading Thomas Pynchon and listening to jazz. So rad. Though, I guess technically I'm ending the day with a blog post... huh. Whatever.
Peace out
I was going to write something about the difference between knowing something and feeling something, but I'm too damn tired.
In the past couple of days, my overall attitude to the PCP has been rather lackadaisical. I don't mean to say I'm becoming apathetic or lazy towards it. Just more relaxed. And I assume that due to this relaxation, I was able to have a more intense workout.
Who knows?
I totally ended today with reading Thomas Pynchon and listening to jazz. So rad. Though, I guess technically I'm ending the day with a blog post... huh. Whatever.
Peace out
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Such a drag...
I don't know what it was, but my muscles were just like, "fuck you" today.
Well, I did accidentally do day 51 on day 50, and day 52 on 51, so I decided to do 50 today, except with 8 2-min sets of jumps. It was really only the leg exercises that felt like a drag. The shoulders are always tough. The V-sit I got a little nauseous in the middle (kind of weird) but the side crunches I blasted through.
Oh, and the jump rope is a fuckin' breeze. Probably my favorite part now, next to the floor jump and the side crunch.
Well, I did accidentally do day 51 on day 50, and day 52 on 51, so I decided to do 50 today, except with 8 2-min sets of jumps. It was really only the leg exercises that felt like a drag. The shoulders are always tough. The V-sit I got a little nauseous in the middle (kind of weird) but the side crunches I blasted through.
Oh, and the jump rope is a fuckin' breeze. Probably my favorite part now, next to the floor jump and the side crunch.
"Depression is anger without motivation"
Most of my adolescent life has seen depression, anxiety, despair, and apathy, all interspersed with sudden bouts of intense rage. Why was it like this? Well, for many reasons. One reason is that this house is a complete mess. A total dump. The fridge is filled with so much crap. Some food, most non-food. Some leftovers that have turned to complete mold. When I say this place is a dump, I don't mean it's just messy, disorganized. It's more than that, it's a god damn health hazard. It has me pissed off so much; there was a fly buzzing around our kitchen, so I slapped it out of the air and punched the fuck out of it while it was twitching on the counter (in my defense, I missed the trash day so our garbage cans have been inundated with maggots. To say the least, I am not a very big fan of flies right now)
On the positive side, my family's absence allowed me to be free in my own home. Three weeks of unchecked growth. My biggest concern is that it would all be hacked away upon their return, but it seems I have nothing to worry about. The growth continues.
Consulting memory, I can see that I'm sick a lot. I mean like, almost once a month. Sometimes, if I don't sleep it off in the first three days, it sticks with me for weeks. Hell, I think I might be sick right now. The project has given me a higher awareness of my body. I can feel things that I couldn't really feel before. One of these things is this constant drag I've been feeling. It feels a lot like a sickness that won't go away.
Maybe, you know, if my immune system wasn't under constant assault, I'd have a little more energy.
So frustrated. Depression is anger without motivation, and lately, I've been really fuckin' motivated.
On the positive side, my family's absence allowed me to be free in my own home. Three weeks of unchecked growth. My biggest concern is that it would all be hacked away upon their return, but it seems I have nothing to worry about. The growth continues.
Consulting memory, I can see that I'm sick a lot. I mean like, almost once a month. Sometimes, if I don't sleep it off in the first three days, it sticks with me for weeks. Hell, I think I might be sick right now. The project has given me a higher awareness of my body. I can feel things that I couldn't really feel before. One of these things is this constant drag I've been feeling. It feels a lot like a sickness that won't go away.
Maybe, you know, if my immune system wasn't under constant assault, I'd have a little more energy.
So frustrated. Depression is anger without motivation, and lately, I've been really fuckin' motivated.
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