Like An Animated Bull


girl carrying bull

I don’t have to look around to realize what’s going on, men peering in wonderment at my personal space.  Sometimes I feel the love of first impressionists observing a woman lifting, curves hugging onto fabrics for dear living with sweat and sheen from hard work.  We fuel each other, every so often smile and nod in harmony and unspoken claims.  Other times there’s a rage inside some men’s stares when I pass their field of vision.  I shoot them in the face with fulsome courage because they’ll never run me into the position of fear.  I’ll steal the glory from these devilish green-eyed monsters on the stage of their own gym and vacation with their missing muscle gains.

I don’t have to pick my head high as the Queen of England to know that glares put bullet-holes down my back.  The headphones scream in my eardrums and I bounce up and down, huffed and puffed in a hoodie, pushing forward and back on the pad in the center of an imaginary mosh pit of a Hammer Strength machine.  Weight stacked, I’m lining in my front view the enemies behind me who wish my collapse. I grab the handles with the heavy valor of Thor and row for heroism, row for the battle blood in my veins and row for the smoke exiting out my eager winning nostrils like an animated bull.

-Pennington Hall

People Bullsh*t!


I have to vent!

There’s a lot I don’t like about humans and people as a whole.  Like their greed, selfishness, insecurities, weakness, blame game, dishonesty, justification, belief systems and utter endless bullshit.

Here’s a scenario:  I’m sitting down with two of my coworkers (Y and C) who I both truly adore when they aren’t being catty, jealous or judging others (including myself).  We are having a pleasant time spilling our happiness into Screwdrivers and Sex on the Beach drinks taking the night in supporting one of their boyfriend’s live Rock Band gigs when this coworker Y starts venting to us about another coworker (who thankfully wasn’t with us at the time and who I really like despite her reputation of being an airhead).  What gets me exactly is she doesn’t grasp the real point of what she should be making underneath it all.

Her blurts are simple.  So simple she can’t see the truth behind it.  She says, “This gal J is always late for work.  I don’t understand why.  Then when she comes into work she says she’s tired.  But what is she tired of?  What could this young twenty-something year old girl be tired of?  When her own mothers watches her son when she’s at work.  So what does she do when she’s not at work?  I’m sure nothing.”

Rather than Y say, “I’m jealous because I have two jobs because I want to be a supermom and allow all my three children and a grandson to take full advantage of me until I die.  I’m envious because she can actually have downtime and do whatever she wants rather than take some responsibility for coming into work late” she rather mention the above.

And I can’t respect people with their character being all out of, well, character.  It’s not J’s fault that she doesn’t need to work two full-time jobs and have zero days off.  It’s also awesome that she didn’t choose to pop out three children who will suck her nipples until they fall off for dear life leaving her body frigid, bitter and cold.  So who’s the smarter one?  I only hear one of them talking about the other.

Scenario two:  My friend gets into a car accident for lord knows probably the tenth time and chooses to pity himself a pyramid of sudden death to a material attachment.  Yet he wants me to get in on the pity party.

But why?  When one:  You only need one person to pity?  Yourself!  Two:  Why empathize if evidently he drives carelessly with complete zero fucks given?  Third:  Why hasn’t he learn the lesson of giving EXTRA fucks when being behind the wheel (because fuck the car that just got trashed by your own doing!) but because you refuse to appreciate your life to begin with?

But placing the blame outside himself has always been the name of his game because it wasn’t his fault.  I like to believe being honest however is a much better claim to being in control of your own life.  I’m afraid people think the opposite.

Scenario three:  FUCK THIS!  You get the point!

-Pennington

Mammoth Crush: The Girl In Me 2



Link 1

There has been countless times where I’ve felt guilty as fuck and couldn’t understand whether I love to fall into his girlfriend’s smile?  Or if I craved to crack her lips to make it go away?  Or punch myself in the face to assist in the erasing of every single corkscrew of a feeling dismayed?  How many times have I felt helpless, backing into a memory triggered and I was where they were, blessed and swayed?  My only intention was being within the same exact space he was in so I could inhale the same breath as he while my armor fell to the ground pressed and unafraid. 

..Stupid.  Oh so stupid!…

Anxiety twisted its daggers and rattled my nerves in the dark pits of my belly over what they do not know.. how I feel.  Except I have good reason to believe different say the times where I blurted real statements that were shrouded by the fact that liquor and barhopping was involved in spontaneity appeal.

I’ve created fantasies by the fortune of a big wheel by what I’ve seen with my own eyes (which may be just as deceiving as a parent’s love and affection for an only child) trying my best not to strain the muscle to my sight when I looked over their pictures and how it hit me thunderous quick like a jab snapped from the words of ancient scripture.  I see an amazing couple who meshes well like calm water into calmer pitcher.  They must have it great like the cheerful sun making love to the sky or how the moon melts it’s glow into the night.   But what do I know since I could only view what the grass smells and tastes like from the other side? 

I caught myself lost in the moment of what I perceive to be fact by obsessing over the imagined. 

They love each other and display it like fashion.  I watch and it makes me sick with backbiting spasms like once where I examined everything one evening at their studio apartment celebrating a party completely disarming, until I saw their bed and I envisioned them cuddling and making sweet love charming.  I plummeted without words or expressions ill to my stomach.  Mostly by the summit of how I actually felt about him.  And why do I feel this way about him?  It’s strong like the religion of gym. 

Sick as I was with an ex lover of mine to get closer to him.  Sick because I pretended to be friends with everyone in the circle to be closer to him.  Sick to my stomach on how it makes me sick to begin with.  I seethe and my heart breaks momentarily wishing I weren’t smart enough to know what feelings meant, just before I come around and snap into my senses again.   FUCK THEM!

-Pennington

Side note:  I dislike doing continuations to a past entry because it’s hard to be in the same exact moment with the same amount of inspiration as I felt during which and when I first created the post.  If part 2 has disappointed you as it has me to a certain degree, the sentence before this one may have had a lot to do with it.  Thanks for reading. 🙂

Have Some Respect For The Craft Will Ya?



“Is anyone afraid or disheartened?
He should go back to his house,
or he might cause the heart of
his comrades to melt like his own.”
–Unknown

I have a friend who sometimes acts more like an associate depending on the many Subjects of Life.  (Who doesn’t?)  I want to know if anyone of you guys have a friend like this in your life:   The kind, who, in their own way means well on those aspects of life which you two AGREE upon.  But on the same token, their persona gets in the way of what it is you actually live everyday for.  In my case:  Training. 😉

Every once in a while he’ll invite himself (lately) or I invite him (usually says “no” because he’s lazy when it comes to physical labor of any kind.  Probably why he has a desk job?) to the Gym.  Things always start out well.  But he criticizes exercises, programs (like my current one) and even the amount of effort that must be put in to Lifts, at times.  And I can relate to this last thing whereas I’ve done it periodically myself:  He’ll like an exercise up until the point where I have to come over, whisper in his ear so he doesn’t feel embarrassed around others on how his form is off or shy of being completed.

But by far the thing I hate the most (probably because most men I’ve trained with or trained tend to be this way) is when he has to throw his ego into the lifting session by making absolutely sure he’s piling extra weight on the barbell or dumbbells, (even if it’s just 5-10lbs) for the sole purpose of beating me with numbers.

Rather than making this shit about me, I rather it be about the respect for fitness altogether whether it’s the process of a lift or the exercise itself.  Rather than get the basics of the deadlift form or heed my advice on how not to go about hurting himself, all he sees is the amount I’m doing (which isn’t heavy in my book at all: 145lbs) and how he has to go over it!  This has been this way for a fucking decade.

I told myself as long as he doesn’t increase the weight I’ll do him a favor (which isn’t a favor at all, just being spiteful) and let him believe he somewhat can handle the form of Deadlifting.  Second set came and he performed the same numbers.  Third set comes around and he has to stack 20lbs over.  During this time he was being overly confident and decides to ask, “How much you think my Max is?”

I didn’t give him full encouragement of any kind.  I kept it at the 200lb range for someone who prefers mall-walking to going to the gym to grind life and aggression the fuck out.  What he does?  Stacks 2 45lb plates to 3 plates.  With those 6 plates altogether there was no lift off and he could have really injured himself.  I can say I wouldn’t want anything to happen to him on my watch.  But, who am I fooling?  He fucking deserves it with his foolishness.

Ultimately my thing is I would like it very much if he and if anyone one of you know someone who has an aspect of their life they’re completely in love and infatuated with to just respect them and what it is they consider to be a craft from their heart and passion.  Don’t ruin it for them because that’s not what being a friend is about.  Plus it speaks of a character who displays contempt for what the other person does.

It’s hard to find someone who puts forth every bit of their being into something they truly enjoy.  But it’s even harder for the outside person who owns no passion but absolute bitterness to the world outside them and within to watch someone put their passion into their craft.  Of course it’s an envy thing.  How many people do you hear of loving exactly what it is they do in Life?  Not many.

Training is to abide what is true to you/me above all (and many times over anyone).  For a person to disregard a certain type of lifestyle in any form of way becomes an elite asshole for as long as I shall live and beyond.

Simple as that.

-Pennington