Total Pageviews

Monday, January 6, 2014

Recovery VS. Comfort

Jeff begs for his stomach to accept the steamy soup that sits rested in his hands cupped like a bowl, morphed into a homeless man begging for change on a cold afternoon.  Hands of chalk and eyes of tired, his big breath makes the steam float away fast and violently, as the bowl of chunky soup only can imagine running away as well.  The soup sits so quietly in the hands of this non-hungry but hungry Weightlifter.  Stomach rolls for food, but the mouth won't open.  Hands shake the bowl in desperate need of food, fuel, and recovery.  Eat!  He yells out in the lobby of the gym while his plastic spoon drapes the outer line of the bowl as if sitting in a hot tub of pure relaxation.  Don't rush me mother fucker.......the spoon barked quietly as his head fell back and his toes wiggled just peaking out from the soup before plunging them back under.  The athlete felt paralyzed.  His mind confused as his body was acting bi-polar.  Jeff's friend Frank walked by asking if everything was ok......Jeff replied without taking his eyes off the soup bowl...."I'm good".  But the sad news was Jeff was not good.  How could Jeff be so hungry but not eat?  How could he not move his arms to feed his body?....and why the fuck was this spoon being such a piece of shit?

Hell month....that's what they call it.  I guess it makes sense considering this month in training was truly hell casted from the dark valleys where the devil sleeps.  Protein powder went down smooth......only wanting to be thrown back up instantly once the chunky powder bombs entered the power belly of Jeff.  Big boy belly is what he called it, pasta belly, carb belly, recovery belly.....most importantly.....strong fucken belly.  But as of late, a belly of sick and tired.  A body of disgust of any scent or sight.  Fast paced movies gave Jeff motion sickness, as the sight of a burger commercial made him weezy.  How could this be?  He thought to himself while swirling the spoon around the ever growing cold soup.  How could an athlete train so hard and not eat?  It's more confusing than Leo not having won an Oscar yet.......????    Jeff got up to slam a some creatine that tried to hide away in the bottom of his paper cup.  After a few swishes and fancy maneuvering with his hand eye coordination he was able to gulp down and capture all of the white rocks of creatine that made his body tingle and itch.....a sensation that stood right behind sex.  Yea.....that good.  A must for big weight....both sex and creatine.  He paced the lobby as if getting ready to run out on the court of a basketball game.  Introducing number "I'm not fucken hungry".....Jeff! and the crowd goes crazy just like his body that so bleeds for food.  The voice of Shankle playing over and over in his head..."You gotta eat," Shankle would say if in this situation.  In a heated flash Jeff threw out the bitch of a spoon from the bowl....grew a pair of balls while raising the cup to his mouth.....and took a giant gulp of steak, potatoes, vegetables and soupy awesomeness.  He stood tall while the food raced like the carpool lane at 5 o'clock and yelled "Shankle!!" for all to hear!  Jeff felt alive and in control.  Jeff realized that food was just like must never listen to your body, with the bar, and with food.  Jeff grabbed the loaf of bread and stick of butter and took bite after bite, mixing the butter and bread in his time to time for liberal type shit.  Jeff finished his soup all while standing with his legs out wide and his chest raised high.  Rocking back and forth from the discomfort he was in while engulfing his recovery food.  He raised his fist up high with a crooked and full of food smile he finished all his food and got one step closer to gold. 

Food ain't food for an is recovery.  Period.  It ain't supposed to taste good.  Your girly purple grape protein shakes can be shoved up your ass.  The next time someone tells me what kind of protein flavor they are drinking I am going to body slam them in a cave of no return where monkeys eat brains.  Do you want monkeys to eat your brains!?  That's what I thought, so shut up and eat, drink, and stop caring how it tastes. Keeping your weight up is a sport of itself.  Eating when not hungry is an Olympic Sport.  If you ain't ain't winning mother fucker.  These non Attitude Nation pussies out there only eating when they're hungry makes me sick.  Making short gains....? Food.  Feeling too sore......?    Food.  Not a lot of energy......?   Food.  If you are taller than 5'10" you better be a 94 or above.  If ain't eating.  These self made pussies only think of weight classes, when they should be thinking about recovery.  Food is not weight is recovery.  Wherever the food takes you is your weight class!!!   I am banging on these keys because of the bullshit that I have seen all over the world.  Like Donny Shankle says, "No Comfort Zones" - Lion Killer.

Eat mother fucker   2016 

No comments:

Post a Comment