Glum Hugs

Before I even start I think I've got to acknowledge the ownership of the term "Glum Hugs". As someone who shoots his mouth off and from whom soundbites are subsequently stolen I couldn't live with myself if I did the same to Carrie, that and more importantly Carrie will glare at me. That frightens me.

Anyway to topic. Not last week but the week before I was in a 4 day long bad mood. I clarify because last week I was in fucking exceptional form despite the almost complete lack of sleep. The bad mood was down to a combination of things. I'll mention the things that don't pertain to my continuing quest to find a wife, namely the loss of a certain piece of protective equipment. I say loss, because theft alleges something I really don't want to follow up. It went missing is the long and short of it and I've long stopped believing that things take on a life of their own when I leave them alone. One of many illusions that faded away with childhood.

Being in a bad mood and being generally bad company left me alone and in a bad mood. This reminded me of the book "Men are from Mars and Women are from Venus", one night we had a copy of it and having little other entertainment picked the salacious and pointless parts out. It made some reference to a man's "cave" that mental space that a man goes into when the tide of things turn against him. He noted that he would become less talkative, more contemplative and generally retreat into a headspace all his own to solve these problems. The book is shit. It just points out enough of the obvious to be taken seriously by people looking for a quick fix. If your relationship is fucked up and this is where you turn then you don't really care enough for the relationship or you should be dumped because unless you're partner is a moron this won't help.

So here I found myself, in a mental cave. I have, through years of being in bad moods and a self destructive streak, made real my cave - it is Muscle Forge. When I'm pissed off, I go lift. I go in angry and confused and by the end I'm focused and if I was angry enough I have a deep burn and a personal record. The week then culminated with three days of me beating the ever loving shit out of myself. It begins with Kate and a 2k row, despite not rowing for the past three months I throw caution to the wind and shoot for a new record. Doubt and the pain in my legs cloud my mind and halfway through I falter. I just miss out on a new PB with a time of 6.53. Fuck.

Next day, I go squatting. A video of this is online somewhere for those who care. During the third set, traditionally where I am stronger I die under the bar. Thanks to catch bars this isn't literal death just the death of pride and the workout. The mood is darker and the next day stairs hurt my poor abused legs. Bollocks.

The sky is dark and all I can think of is the lessons on pathetic fallacy back in English. Grit your teeth, growl through a smile and set up the rings. Thirty muscle ups here I come. The masochistic streak comes out and I ignore the torn callus on my wrist and try to push on through. Hit the timer after the last rep at 8.20. Fuck yeah, a new record.

Aside from just venting and bragging about my new muscle up time the point of this is to show that though you may feel like shit and all about you may be letting you down there are better uses for bodily fluids than crying. Sweating is one of them. Clear headed and happy I emerge from the Cave. Nothing has changed but perspective.

Pissed off at something new today.

People seemed to like this blog. I also really like the phrase glum hugs.