••••••••••
DEADS:
111lb x12
Paused:
155lb x8
155lb x6
199lb x3
199lb x4
199lb x3
BB RDL:
155lb x6
155lb x8
(199lb x3) 2x
BENT BB ROW:
Bar x15
67lb x10
77lb x8
SEATED NARROW CABLE ROW:
Single/Single/Double
45lb x8 / x8 / 90lb x8
45lb x8 / x8 / 90lb x6
55lb x5 / x5 / 100lb x5
ISOLATERAL LAT PULLDOWN:
SIngle/Single/Double
35lb x15 / x15 / x7
40lb x10 / x10 / x5
ASSISTED PULLUPS:
90lb x8
90lb x5.5
90lb x6
•••••••••
Everything felt pretty good tonight. I'm pleased with the paused deadlifts and there was zero pain in my knees. As of right now, there is also no pain in my lower back. So, knowing all that, you're probably asking yourself why I wish that I was dead. Part of me doesn't want to even talk about it, or breathe life into it. Another part of me, however, knows that sunlight is the best disinfectant and if anything needs disinfectant, this would be it. So let's pour some sunshine on this moment of my life.
We arrived at the gym and made our way to the back where we deadlift. It was fairly quiet in there, as it has been for the past few days. There was a young guy to our right and another guy on our left, both working diligently on themselves. We got the bar set up with my first weight, as is our custom. I set up, lifted it with ease, and stepped aside for my love to get his warmups in. Everything was smooth and easy, and relatively ho-hum.
We got the weight put on for my first set of paused lifts. I set my feet and bent to grab the bar. I set myself in position and took my beautiful, deep breath and braced. I pulled that bar smoothly from the floor and just as smoothly let escape the loudest burst of gas I think I've ever had. It resounded in the weight room like the crack of a lightning bolt from a midsummer's storm and I was mortified. I lowered the weight and got 7 more reps just as beautiful as the first but a lot quieter.
I turned to Frank and shut him down before he could get one lousy dad joke out of his cute little mouth. He obviously saw the horror and self-loathing on my face and immediately went into playing dumb, acting as though he had no earthly idea what I was talking about. Bless his little heart.
I resolved right then and there that I would never set foot in that gym again. I was done; this was my last day. How could I show my face again after having such thunderous flatulence? The shame would be passed down my family line for generations - sorry Em and all of my future grandkids. I suppose it could've been worse. At least it didn't stink and thank goodness it wasn't anything more than air that came out. Oh my god, I can't even imagine...
OK, so maybe I will go back on Thursday but I'll guarantee you I'll still be embarrassed and still be 100% totally certain that everyone will now identify me as "the chick that farted". Google reassures me that "it is common; many lifters just allow it to happen as the part of the sport." Thanks Google, but that's not making me feel any better. Here's to hoping that I'm truly overreacting and if I'm not, here's to hoping that people have short memories.


