Feeling the rebirth vide of spring and the need to confidently wear a superhero costume on a video, I installed the pull-up bar in our workout area today. I don’t know why I rushed to the occasion, because we bought the pull bar only six or seven months ago, but the planets were aligned properly or something so I figured I might as well go ahead and do it.
Ready to do six or seven sets of 10 reps, I confidently pulled myself up onto the pull-up bar and promptly had flashbacks to junior high where we had to do the exact same thing in front of our classmates. Back then I could do 1 1/2 pull ups if I was lucky and encouraged by my classmates that called me “Johnny Wing Dingbat”.
Today I did three, sort of. Big whoopin’ doo.
I don’t think that was a bad start for several reasons. First of all, I’ve done no strength training at all. I’ve been focusing on my legs (for cycling) and my cardio for fat burning. My clothes are fitting better to the point where I’m wearing my smaller sized clothes without having to hold my breath or fear showering anyone near me with Levi rivets. I’ve been eating healthier and feeling better but the scale isn’t agreeing with me, so I think I’m gaining muscle which is heavier than fat (so I’ve been told). At least that rationale sounds good.
Anyway, here I am at the pull-up bar doing three pull-ups when I realize that I should take the stool away so that I’m really hanging there. Naw, I did that part, but I don’t remember if I should have my palms facing away from me or toward me while I’m doing this exercise. So I did three pull-ups each way, for a total of six. Later tonight I might actually unpack the free weights and then do some reps with those.
I told Earl last weekend that I think I was either suffering from seasonal depression or a midlife crisis (I’m approaching 39). He said I’m just nuts and besides he had planned on enduring several of my midlife crises before all is said and done. I’m glad he’s the sensible one.