i’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately about my fitness level and my progress, and where i want to go with everything. running is, of course, a priority for me. i have a 10-miler coming up in a month, and the derby half in three. i love racing and i’m so excited to get back out there.
but i’m also falling fast and hard for lifting heavy. with the exception of the disaster that is my squat, thanks to this dopey hip flexor, i’m getting stronger every week. the change to my programming style has definitely helped, and i’m loving the results. it’s not even an aesthetic thing – i just really love pushing and pulling heavy weight. i think it’s fun, it’s a adventure…and it makes me feel cool haha.
no, really guys.
but i know in order to get stronger, i need to be eating a surplus. plainly, i’m going to need to put on mass to get stronger, and that will require…well, putting on mass. as in, i need to eat more.
this is a strange concept to me, even after nine months of post-op weight restoration. and especially after fifteen years of actively trying to shrink my body into something it was not meant to be in the first place.
yet here i am, making conscious decisions every day to eat more, fuel more, get bigger to get stronger. it’s a foreign idea, yet strangely enticing. i want a 200# deadlift in the worst way – my highest pull was monday, 180# – and a 120# bench would be pretty damn cool too. i told myself i wouldn’t get on a scale for the month of january, and now we’re a week into february and i still haven’t bothered. which is weird but ultimately extremely liberating.
the only numbers i care about right now are the max lifts i’m shooting for. 200# deadlift. 120# bench. a non-embarrassing back squat. and 75# thrusters some day.
let’s do this. it’s grow time.