“There are few of us who have not sometimes wakened before dawn, either after one of those dreamless nights that make us almost enamoured of death, or one of those nights of horror and misshapen joy, when through the chambers of the brain sweep phantoms more terrible than reality itself, and instinct with that vivid life that lurks in all grotesques, and that lends to Gothic art its enduring vitality, this art being, one might fancy, especially the art of those whose minds have been troubled with the malady of reverie. Gradually white fingers creep through the curtains, and they appear to tremble. In black fantastic shapes, dumb shadows crawl into the corners of the room and crouch there. Outside, there is the stirring of birds among the leaves, or the sound of men going forth to their work, or the sigh and sob of the wind coming down from the hills and wandering round the silent house, as though it feared to wake the sleepers and yet must needs call forth sleep from her purple cave. Veil after veil of thin dusky gauze is lifted, and by degrees the forms and colours of things are restored to them, and we watch the dawn remaking the world in its antique pattern. The wan mirrors get back their mimic life. The flameless tapers stand where we had left them, and beside them lies the half-cut book that we had been studying, or the wired flower that we had worn at the ball, or the letter that we had been afraid to read, or that we had read too often. Nothing seems to us changed. Out of the unreal shadows of the night comes back the real life that we had known. We have to resume it where we had left off, and there steals over us a terrible sense of the necessity for the continuance of energy in the same wearisome round of stereotyped habits, or a wild longing, it may be, that our eyelids might open some morning upon a world that had been refashioned anew in the darkness for our pleasure, a world in which things would have fresh shapes and colours, and be changed, or have other secrets, a world in which the past would have little or no place, or survive, at any rate, in no conscious form of obligation or regret, the remembrance even of joy having its bitterness and the memories of pleasure their pain.” – Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray
Oh my god, that’s a long one. But seriously… ❤ Oscar Wilde knows how to assemble the words.
I’m a big fan of the new day, new start mantra. The sunrise is the perfect reset. That being said, I am totally guilty of having something from the previous day, or even a crappy dream, carry over into the following day.
This very thing threatened my Saturday morning. I’d planned a hike, but even as I pulled up to the trailhead, part of me wanted to turn around and crawl back into bed. But I kept asking myself, “Is that really how you want to write the day, Morgan?”. I parked the car and it ended up being one of the best hikes of that trail that I’ve done! Good decision.
13 March | Su
Peralta Trail @ The Superstition Mountains
12 March | Sa
Pre-Gymnasium Hike | Mormon Trail @ South Mountain
Pillars | 3x
GA squats x 8
Scaption x 8 @ 5s ea
Prone glute press x 10
Super bird dogs x 10 ea
Warm-up | EMOM x 20:00
Evens: DUs x 30
Odds: SA press x 5 ea + Sit-ups x 10
Work | O-Lifting
3 position clean deadlift 4 x 3 (155,165,165,175#)
Seated press 4 x 3 (55,60,65,70#)
SL RDLs x 8 ea (35#)
Banded shoulder rolls x 10 ea direction
Hollow rocks x :30
Such a great vibes weekend. Saturday’s gym session was fantastic; Matty Nice was in the gymnasium! Whaaat. Was fired up from the hike so I did an EMOM workout (stolen from a workout from last week that I didn’t fit in) to prep for O-Lifting. That first position on the deadlifts was… intense. Okay, so were the other two. Really had to focus to keep the shoulders back. Ellie Mayhem and I kept one another in check. Nothing to report on the other movements other than that the hip/back/shoulder/tricep are feeling good.
My Sunday trip to the Superstitions was amazing. The pics don’t do it justice…
Also, I can hike for miles without a misstep but as soon as another human is in visual range, that’s when I’ll fall on my face. True story. It’s like when you’re having a scandalous conversation with your lady friends and as soon as you get to the good bits, the joint goes silent and you’re the one yelling “Anal!” at The Yard.
Lastly, after listening to the latest Barbell Shrugged Podcast Version 2.0, I gotta eat more oatmeal. After O-Lifting.