Tag Archives: DOMS

Muscle Chatter


Leave my deodorant stains out of discussion.
Leave my deodorant stains out of discussion.

[FYI: Don’t be surprised to see this blog on my other Training Life!  I promise in time, there will be enough of me and my inspiration to go around.  Ha!]

My shoulder pangs and howls to let me become acquainted with the power it has over my training life.  It’s fully aware that one thing is connected to another:  Performing bicep curls, bent-over rows, overhead tricep extensions, and push-ups will harm; and as far as shoulder pressing – during the action it wouldn’t hurt will, but later on it’ll be unforgiving.

My abdominals are back to their strong connection where I can lay flat on the floor and sit up in a heartbeat without an ounce of struggle.  And the other night getting into a dog position I can feel the outstanding stretch from the top of my abdominals, to the oblique and lower region in wincing tenderness.

My glutes are under a sexual tension of their own I like to believe.  I assume they adore being at the height of attention and at the personification of pain – how they love to demonstrate by hurting me brutally with every step I take, any time I sit (like on the bike earlier) and every bend I perform from the waist.

My lower back has been having a groundhog film moment where it feels as if it’s been hit on repeat with a small hammer because anything bigger may have me registering at the hospital overnight as I try and explain to the doctors how I switched from “cutting” to out-lifting myself and every other person in and out the gym because priorities and wanting to be the master at something before I die.

My ankle decides to knock, knock, and knock on my nerves with its flaming metal and screws which poke and stab me like syringes.  It has every reason to be annoyed with my telling it to suck it up and woman-and-nut-up.

I had to strategize the slow and fast pace of pedaling and of heartbeats per minute during the course of forty-seven minutes on the stationary bike because let’s face it – 7 miles in my mind wasn’t enough for the 30lbs I want to lose, but it’s a start to getting more workouts done in the gym (out the apartment) and getting my old body back.

Over and out,
Pennington

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Tonight: A Side Effect of Greatness


meI have undying passion.
I have creativity and flow working together.
I’m a vessel of many lives.
I receive openly – more so than ever before.
I give when it behooves me.

And through these strong hands I channel my own life’s energy.  I can see that look of determined intent written across my eyebrows, pupils dilated with an immense shade of brown fire (if there were such a thing).  I love pleasant reminders of being a weightlifter like my silver barbell faded into a zealous rust color where the hands are strategically placed from robust usage.  Or the old-school globe dumbbell on the belly of my forearm in its own imperfect symmetry yet ideal shading.  I love reminders that feel like slices of heaven.  Or when heaven in my world resembles delayed onset muscle soreness.

I rewind to the time when my boyfriend performed the Razor’s Edge from the top of the couch when I was twelve years old – my entire back slammed onto the concrete of the floor in rapid fashion.  Without a flinch, without a facial expression, my skin sizzles like the morning sun, and my muscles quickly take on a singe.  But that’s just me rowing and pulling back with my elbows directing the strength show.

It’s just me and the bar – alone with my thoughts, alone with my focus, alone with my concentrated desire.  I can feel the flames fan and spread like a forest wildfire through my traps, teres minor/major, rhomboids and lats.  I row bent-over and row until my muscles become like deep hooks fasten to my bones.  I row until these muscles remain unquestionably contracted and freeze.  I row until my muscles yell, spit and claw at me with spasms.  Until I have to beg them for mercy and limber them again.

Disregarding the tight knot that formed in my back and in my forearms it is time to pick up the dumbbells for a bicep curl marathon.  I ride the mind-muscle connection.  I stand with soldier posture.  Shoulders are down and back and my abdominals are fully engaged.  I curl and curl; my skin tightens like a face peel – twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four and twenty-five reps.  I keep the world of burn centered in the bicep peak.  I’m in pain.  I can’t tell which it is:  Does my mind or body want to give up?

I grind my teeth.  I get angry.  I’m extremely ugly when I lift.  I’m never to sure what come(s) over me.  I now proceed to hurt myself further by grinding my teeth into my mouth and grimace like I’m dropping sewage in the public restroom.  I can feel my body wanting to break down since the fourth set at the beginning of the training session roughly 40 minutes ago.  I’m now over the hump.  I do my best to maintain good breathing technique during the seconds of concentric, isometric and eccentric.

Keep the body tight.
Keep the body tight.
Can you feel it baby?
I dirty-talk myself.

I’m far out.  I’m probably having an out of body experience.  I’m a watcher sitting on an engine fueling my iron addiction observing myself.  I’m exhausted like a motherfucker, but I’m chasing the burn, the pump and the grind.  I’m chasing the fat I’ve gain last year.  I’m chasing my fickle motivation.  I’m making my own inspiration once again.

And…

Tonight I felt like myself.
Tonight I felt like a weightlifter.
Tonight I’m heavy in love with myself.
Tonight the pumps in my deltoids were fearsome.
Tonight my triceps bled over (still are),
And I didn’t even train them.
That, my friends, is a side effect of greatness.

P.S.

Does my training inspire my writing or does my writing inspire my training?

-Pennington

Vital Home


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I stretch long and strong and wide like a rainbow.  I have my colors back from my fair complexion – and the ones I deem underneath my skin – muscles.  I bask once again in the glory of my religion at the gym; eight months later after being snatch up from a break and fall accident.  I’m finally home.  And I welcome myself back with the eyes and psyche of a new foundation and fresh perspective that glitters like gold from the inside out with positivity and nourishment that stems from redefining everything in my life.

It’s been a long while – shy of four months to make a full year.  But now, I’m in my happy place where endorphins give way to my bipolar lows so I can obtain a high again.  The gym is where I center myself, where I create the magic concoction to establish balance and management of my historic chemical imbalances.  It’s where I get to feel the rush of heat on my chubby cheeks and where I get to unleash my every day aggression.  It’s where I thrive on the blood that swirls in burn and ache in every direction from the temple of my body and mind.

I’m once again grateful for all the higher powers that be for allowing me to feel my muscles with hurt on every movement I push without limits.  I enjoy each turn as I wince out of delight from a rotation where my oblique contracts and I involve myself in the flashback of yesterday:  Engaging full integrity on a few hours of work.  Because for a while I forgot how soreness felt.  I forgot about the subtle peaks in muscles.  I forgot about the way those peaks slowly raise with fever over the course of the night and the next forty-eight hours heavy with temper – delayed onset muscular soreness.

The truth is:  I can live with every part of my body given to the brutal pain of a committed lift.  I can dedicate my entire life to infinite repetitions.  I can die happy on my last breath being exerted against the resistance of iron, and the cerebral connection vital for my mental, spiritual and emotional therapy.  I mean, after all is said and done, the gym is a home dedicated to self-love, despite the general mundane (and sometimes) pieces of a day to day.  This is where my importance lies and one of the many things that gives my life character, spirit, purpose and beauty.

-Pennington

Addicted


Performing 200 rep backward lunge to front kicks were ultimate.  I knew my excitement for the challenge wouldn’t disappoint.

Today is the second day of the DOMS and I have to say it feels beautiful.  Sure, I do, have a love/hate relationship for the bountiful soreness that reminds me of the damage I’ve done to my body.  But those are few and far in between.

With every step I take I feel my aura grimace and my subconscious sneer. When I actually take a 40 degree step up or down the staircase I could almost sense and visualize my muscles breaking like splitting hair and tight fibers.

I feel victorious in my battle over a long stretch of a 45 minute leg action session.  No tears.  Just sweat.  Sweat on my neck, my arms and palms.  Just focus.  Some pain.  A little burn.  With each rep I had a mental precision as if I were performing in an auditorium full of elites.  Nothing could deter me.  Nothing!

And this is why I get physical.  Why I train wholeheartedly.  Why I show my body who’s the boss.  I control my mind state!  I structure, develop and sculpt my muscles and my curves!   I enhance all that’s been given to me through genetics.  I’m selfish.  I take everything and I run with this training life!  I live!  I’m strong!  I’m devoted to the feeling of being empowered.

In other words, I’m addicted to myself.

Pennington.