I was going to write this blog on a weightlifters diet, but I guess the coffee had other plans. It feels good to write something positive, rather than depressing. I never control what I write, I let go completely. I stop thinking 100 percent and rely on pure emotion. Maybe I am in a happy mood because of Christmas. I am happy because for the last few days I have been close to family. It's almost like they have taken my hand and showed me there is more to life than weightlifting, which is a cold world that can drown you in its black fog. Doing my hair, putting on regular people clothes rather than training cloths, and walking around down town, has seemed to put me in a trance of peace and amazement. I find myself dazing off with wandering eyes, like a kid at Disney Land for the first time. What is all this I see? Who are these people and what do they do all day? I am surrounded by a whole world that I once lived in, and now have seemed to forgotten. An alien I am, a lost dog that once had a family but has now forgotten how to sit. I find myself running into people and over apologizing as they keep walking, as if they didn't even see or feel me. I am a one trick pony, and weightlifting is my trick.
10 hours is my perfect amount of sleep. If I hit 11, then I find myself tired throughout the day, sluggish is a better word. I don't know the science behind anything I write, so please be careful what you read, and always ask your coach before performing anything I type. Remember, whatever your coach says is the right way.... period. If I get 8 hours of sleep, then I find myself having a lot of energy early in the morning, but then dying fast in the afternoon. Weird huh? 10 hours, and I'm ready for war, and oh how good the coffee tastes. A rain storm of pr's will fall upon me if my sleep is timed perfectly. Coach knows the minute he sees me if I look ready or not as I walk into the gym, following with one of his most asked questions, "How many hours of sleep did you get last night, Jon?". This is what makes coach Pendlay such a good.... wait, great coach, is that he knows each and every one of his athletes to the T, and understands that our ticking hands tick at different rhythms. I am the Champ and therefore coach is the Champ. I am a freak athlete, and because of this coach is as well. What is coach doing late at night while all his weightlifters are asleep? I wonder. Maybe this is when he creates his world famous programing. Maybe as we all sleep with smiles, coach is planning his master plan while he writes by a fire place dipping his bird feather pin into the ink that sits by the side of coffee. What does coach cry about at night? He will never say, but I wonder at times what his Dark Orchestra would look like. What would his violin type? I have always wondered why the program sheet he passes out to us before training has small ink splashes throughout the paper. This blog started out positive and I can feel my typing becoming more and more dark. I better stop now before I turn this blog into another letter of sadness, or better yet... reality.
Merry Christmas 2016