Just a warning, folks. I enjoy writing. I write a lot. You've been warned. Oh, and my workouts will be in here, as well. This is a re-introduction, if you will.
Funny how these last couple of months have gone. Between realizing how close I came to self-destructing, to stumbling onto the correct path, to having a vital organ stolen from me (not really vital...more like vestigial), it's been a real lesson in patience and humility. It's also been a lesson in seeing people's true colors. Those that I thought were cool, and those that I thought were thieves of oxygen turned out to be the opposite. More on that later, though.
As most probably know, I train a lot. So much that it's a part of my DNA. Lifting, throwing, hitting, flipping, punching, kicking, running, just getting downright dirty is something that has become a large part of my life. So much so that my favorite parts of the day are when I wake up at 4 in the morning, and when I leave my office/tent in the evening. That's when I am free to let the man in the cellar out.
This is where I will probably sound a bit psychotic. I refer to that man as Mr. Black. In situations I have ended up on auto-pilot (blackouts), as well as when I'm off my meds (like the past several months), that is when he is free of the cellar and is running buck-wild. With him behind the wheel, I'm either beating someone into a bloody pulp, destroying something, or just downright pissed off at the world and lashing out.
The last is an accurate depiction of my behavior prior to September. Having been diagnosed as bi-polar, along with chronic depression and PTSD, I was put on a regiment of medication that leveled me out noticeably. I was the epitome of cool, calm, and collected. Mr. Black was locked up tight in the cellar. Prior to ramping up for deployment, February, I was taken off the drug that combated the BPD.
Having not dealt with it in so long, I didn't think about the repercussions of coming off the drug. What ensued was a lot of conflict. From dumping my girlfriend, to isolating myself from everyone, to "expressing" myself in ways that gained certain people's attention, I was a runaway train running out of tracks, and Mr. Black was kicked back on top with a drink in one hand, and a Cuban in the other.
About the only good that came out of all of that were the 40 pounds I dropped, and the moment of clarity I had that showed I needed to part ways with the military. The weight-loss came as a result of training to the liking of Mr. Black. Just balls-to-the-wall training. Since coming to my senses and throwing Mr. Black's ass back into the cellar, I've managed to keep that passion for training going.
And just as I was reaching new heights, a stomach ache, then a robbery took place and placed me on the sidelines for almost a month. During that time away from all things physical and freeing, I lost my love of writing, grew a pretty sexy beard, and got pretty depressed. When I mentioned stepping foot into the gym, even for walking on the treadmill, I was threatened with certain death by an unassuming, soft-spoken Mexican chick (my boss).
So, with nothing else to bring me piece of mind, I turned to a quick source of comfort. FOOD. I have been "nom-ing" on a daily basis. My personal favorite would be the Leche Cake our dining facility makes. That and sweet potato pie. Slices of heaven here in hell. Mounds of hell here in my belly. One look in the mirror yesterday, and I knew what had to be done.
While sitting on my ass in front of my laptop, I went down into the cellar, unlocked the cell door, released the shackles, and brought Mr. Black up to the light of day. Figured I could put him to work. Getting a feel for the situation, we took a secret trip to the gym last night. First test was the bench press. We managed to get under the bar with little pain, and knocked out a few reps. Feeling no pressure on the abs, we opted to work with 135#. The workout went as follows:
135 x 15 (medium grip-5 sets)
135 x 12 (close grip-5 sets)
Overhead Triceps Ext. (Dumbell)
20 x 15 (4 sets)
Felt pretty good afterward. And slept like a champ. And so, with that completed, a union has be formed. I have 59 days until I touch American soil. 53 days to go insane and train like the madman Mr. Black, and myself, so enjoy. Granted, most of it will be strictly for hypertrophy, but I am now motivated, excited even, to get down in the trenches and sharpen both my body and mind. Cry Havoc!! and let slip the dogs of war!! And with that, I'm off to bed.