The Spell of PR

This song + coffee = this blog

You know when the Violin enters the song its time to write, no matter if you have something to write about or not.  What to write is not important, writing something is all you need. Just like you know right away when you wake in the morning you have training to complete.  Fuck, this song is beautiful, and fuck, training makes you feel great, yes beat down and tired, but great.  You combine the piano with the violin and its game over.  Miss Brown eyes enters the room with her silky black dress and her hair down around her face; stunning. You get excited, just like staying up tell 2 AM waiting for the the day to arrive so you can slam bars with your friends, while your favorite songs blast in the gym, only helping you get that much closer to your PR.  You should be in bed.

2 AM and the movie credits are basically saying "go to bed", but you don't, you cant sleep.  How can you though?  You have your whole life ahead of you, just waiting for you like one pig waits for another.  For a weightlifter, every morning is Christmas morning, you have no idea what you are going to get, or what awaits you in the upcoming day.  2 AM and the whole world is asleep; but you.  The smoke from your cigarette hovers around you completely stagnant from the lack of wind.  The white smoke looks beautiful in the blue night sky, as it turns from its original form of smoke into elephants and a herd of birds that soon disappear.... again, telling you to go to bed.  A weightlifter has no middle ground.  Its either hot or cold, max or sleep, fast or slow, lots of coffee or just water for today's training.  Its a spell that helps us and hurts us at the same time.  A spell that gives us unbelievable energy and drive to attack the day.  A PR spell that gives us the power to fight through the hell of training to achieve what we want in life, but then again turning this spell off at the end of the day is at times impossible.  Stay up much longer and you will enter a dream world of orange.  A blog that I wrote a while ago that I still consider one of my favorites. (The orange room)

Now 3 AM and YouTube has replaced your bed.  Dimas helps you feel not so homesick from staying up so late.  Klokov makes you laugh followed by a smile like you and him are best friends.  Which you are, you have seen so many of his competitions and training videos that you feel close to him.  Steiners 2008 performance draws a tear to your eye, as the clock pats you on the back, trying to lead you to bed like the smoke and movie credits failed to do.  But no, because now Ilya has busted through your computer screen and you have found yourself brewing up a pot of coffee while asking yourself why he spikes his hair so weirdly.  But then again he is an Olympic Gold Medalist, so who cares!  You didn't just think that, but you said it out loud to yourself, witch gave you a creepy feeling considering the fact you haven't heard your voice for hours now in your ever so quiet as a mouse house.  Shankle enters your small lit up world around the computer screen, while the dark gangs up all around you.  Goose bumps crawl up your arm from Shankles presents and all around bad assnes, if that's even a word, fuck it, in the Dark Orchestra anything is a word.  There are no more teachers telling me whats wrong and write anymore, just me and my YouTube at 3 AM.  For all the teachers who stamped an F on my forehead, guess what, Andrei Aramnau thinks I have great technique from the letter his coach wrote me that hangs above my desk.  Andrei Aramnau, a baby faced killer, aka the best all around athlete in my opinion.  He moves like leaves dancing over the grass.  He moves like a ballerina on stage, or like Ali taunting his fly in a web competitor.  He moves like Miss Brown Eyes crawling all over your body as you don't just drink her down, but chug her strength and eye popping motivation deep down in your weightlifting belly, what I call the "power belly".  Pocket Hercules makes you scratch your side ways head with amazement, as your hands move from your hair to your droopy eyes.  Yes, your second family of weightlifters are basically tucking you into bed.  You share a bond with every Weightlifter, strong or not strong, Olympian or no Olympian.  We are the same species, the same blood type.  We are all addicted to PR's and strength.  We are a family of many stray dogs that rome the night, for we are lost when training is over, and we look at "others" with confusion and wonder. 

Dimas pulls the covers up to your chin, then famously looks to the side seeing Steiner shut down your computer still holding his wife's picture with a strong tight hook grip in his hand.  Ilya walks into the kitchen like he is getting ready to lift, and shuts off your coffee pot with his still ever so spiked up hair.  Aramnau slides across the living room like a fucken cheetah, and smoothly turns off the TV and PlayStation.  Pocket looks up at the door handle, getting himself up onto his toes and then shutting the door that leads out to your smoking deck of elephants and flying birds.  Goodnight, sleep tight, and don't let the bed bugs bite. 

 Dimas, Steiner, Klokov, Aramnau, Pocket 2016