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Essie
New member
Some of you may have read this on the other forum I am part of ...
But here it is anyways of EF as well:
My arms are hurting like death today after last night's gruelling routine and some people just don't get why I do it ... why I go through the anguish and the intensity while training, the contorted face and silent roar trying to squeeze in that one last fucking rep, getting halfway through it, holding it there, breathing, grinding your teeth and sometimes, just sometimes, using that little cheat-momentum to get it through, the sweat, the pain, the PUMP, the almost crying, the satisfaction, the pride, the difficulty washing your body in the shower afterwards due to the absolute pump and fatigue ... oh gosh ...
So few people really understand it, because they haven't been there. They don't know (and therefore don't love) the smell of (in my case) the gym-room at home (previously the garage was my gym-room, now my one spare-room is). They don't know how it smells when you breathe heavily, start sweating and then the scent of the weight-formed-iron mixes. They don't know how it feels to feel the pump coming on with your playlist jamming on the earphone (what ever happened to old-school free-weight gyms with rock or metal distorting over the speakers of the hi-fi behind the gym's counter ... where you could bring along your own cassette and request to play a couple songs off of it, except Tuesdays and Thursdays between 5 and 7, because it interferes with the Aerobics class, so you end up having to train listening to some pop or techno tune and some instructor going '1 and up and 2 and up and 3 and up ... LMAO!) and you sitting there, heaving, head in your hands thinking 'how will I complete the next set fully'?
This was initiated by family and friends who a) Asked me when seeing my limited movement today or b) Asked me in the past when I would pitch 'late' for gatherings because I had to train first and the gathering interfered with my routine WHY I DO THIS TO MYSELF.
You know what I said? "Why do I go through the anguish and the intensity while training, the contorted face and silent roar trying to squeeze in that one last fucking rep, getting halfway through it, holding it there, breathing, grinding your teeth and sometimes, just sometimes, using that little cheat-momentum to get it through, the sweat, the pain, the PUMP, the almost crying, the satisfaction, the pride, the difficulty washing your body in the shower afterwards due to the absolute pump and fatigue ... " and then also added a little something in there ... "You know how you love to spend 8 hours of a Saturday playing DOTA 2 or Modern Warfare?" "Yeah." "Well, I have more passion for training than what you have for gaming". "You know how you could lie on the couch and just get lost in your latest favourite novel?" "Yeah." "Well, I have more passion for training than what you have for reading". "You know how you can spend hours pruning your roses and cleaning your garden?" "Yeah." "Well, I have more passion for training than what you have for gardening".
And then, they all sat there in silence, nodding their heads in an accepting manner, but none saying a single word and I continued. I started talking each of every one of them through scenarios they could relate to:
I could see my Mother picturing herself in her garden, the passion and peace and completeness she felt while pruning the roses, or spraying some shit on the plants to keep plant-ticks or something away, watching her plants grow and become beautiful, glowing, clean and healthy plants. I could see her picturing all that while I was saying the words and then suddenly grasp how I feel about training.
I could see my Grandma contemplating how she would get lost in her fav' novel, how she would read words and formulate visual scenarios and audible voices, different faces and different hair styles together in her imagination and eventually get to this complete picture of how the story goes, that satisfaction when she finally reaches the end of the novel and now knows what happened to Jacky and how she pushed through all the heartache and worked through all the life-scars and ended up being a complete, stronger person for it. I could see her contemplating it all while I was explaining it and then suddenly understand what I mean about how I love training.
I could see my cousin working through the scenarios of having to start at scratch when he first gets the new game. How he would have to figure out how what works, how the different characters works best in different scenarios and how one character is not efficient to play the game from start to finish. I could see him experiencing the satisfaction as he grew better and better at playing the game and eventually match the hardest levels of the game. I could see him picturing everything I was saying and then suddenly realise that THAT is how I feel about training, about shifting weight, about pumping iron.
See, some of us are satisfied, with spending hours in the garden, or nose in a book, or conquering some enemy on a computer in a game or in a garage welding something together or preparing mouth-watering dishes for supper or WHATEVER. Yes, some of us are ... ... ... ... ...
But SOME of us ... are NOT.
But here it is anyways of EF as well:
My arms are hurting like death today after last night's gruelling routine and some people just don't get why I do it ... why I go through the anguish and the intensity while training, the contorted face and silent roar trying to squeeze in that one last fucking rep, getting halfway through it, holding it there, breathing, grinding your teeth and sometimes, just sometimes, using that little cheat-momentum to get it through, the sweat, the pain, the PUMP, the almost crying, the satisfaction, the pride, the difficulty washing your body in the shower afterwards due to the absolute pump and fatigue ... oh gosh ...
So few people really understand it, because they haven't been there. They don't know (and therefore don't love) the smell of (in my case) the gym-room at home (previously the garage was my gym-room, now my one spare-room is). They don't know how it smells when you breathe heavily, start sweating and then the scent of the weight-formed-iron mixes. They don't know how it feels to feel the pump coming on with your playlist jamming on the earphone (what ever happened to old-school free-weight gyms with rock or metal distorting over the speakers of the hi-fi behind the gym's counter ... where you could bring along your own cassette and request to play a couple songs off of it, except Tuesdays and Thursdays between 5 and 7, because it interferes with the Aerobics class, so you end up having to train listening to some pop or techno tune and some instructor going '1 and up and 2 and up and 3 and up ... LMAO!) and you sitting there, heaving, head in your hands thinking 'how will I complete the next set fully'?
This was initiated by family and friends who a) Asked me when seeing my limited movement today or b) Asked me in the past when I would pitch 'late' for gatherings because I had to train first and the gathering interfered with my routine WHY I DO THIS TO MYSELF.
You know what I said? "Why do I go through the anguish and the intensity while training, the contorted face and silent roar trying to squeeze in that one last fucking rep, getting halfway through it, holding it there, breathing, grinding your teeth and sometimes, just sometimes, using that little cheat-momentum to get it through, the sweat, the pain, the PUMP, the almost crying, the satisfaction, the pride, the difficulty washing your body in the shower afterwards due to the absolute pump and fatigue ... " and then also added a little something in there ... "You know how you love to spend 8 hours of a Saturday playing DOTA 2 or Modern Warfare?" "Yeah." "Well, I have more passion for training than what you have for gaming". "You know how you could lie on the couch and just get lost in your latest favourite novel?" "Yeah." "Well, I have more passion for training than what you have for reading". "You know how you can spend hours pruning your roses and cleaning your garden?" "Yeah." "Well, I have more passion for training than what you have for gardening".
And then, they all sat there in silence, nodding their heads in an accepting manner, but none saying a single word and I continued. I started talking each of every one of them through scenarios they could relate to:
I could see my Mother picturing herself in her garden, the passion and peace and completeness she felt while pruning the roses, or spraying some shit on the plants to keep plant-ticks or something away, watching her plants grow and become beautiful, glowing, clean and healthy plants. I could see her picturing all that while I was saying the words and then suddenly grasp how I feel about training.
I could see my Grandma contemplating how she would get lost in her fav' novel, how she would read words and formulate visual scenarios and audible voices, different faces and different hair styles together in her imagination and eventually get to this complete picture of how the story goes, that satisfaction when she finally reaches the end of the novel and now knows what happened to Jacky and how she pushed through all the heartache and worked through all the life-scars and ended up being a complete, stronger person for it. I could see her contemplating it all while I was explaining it and then suddenly understand what I mean about how I love training.
I could see my cousin working through the scenarios of having to start at scratch when he first gets the new game. How he would have to figure out how what works, how the different characters works best in different scenarios and how one character is not efficient to play the game from start to finish. I could see him experiencing the satisfaction as he grew better and better at playing the game and eventually match the hardest levels of the game. I could see him picturing everything I was saying and then suddenly realise that THAT is how I feel about training, about shifting weight, about pumping iron.
See, some of us are satisfied, with spending hours in the garden, or nose in a book, or conquering some enemy on a computer in a game or in a garage welding something together or preparing mouth-watering dishes for supper or WHATEVER. Yes, some of us are ... ... ... ... ...
But SOME of us ... are NOT.
