Worst Father Ever

Watched scooby-doo with my son today.  Played hearts for about an hour with him and my wife.  But then because I chose to go to the gym at night again, he was sad because I hadn’t told him a bedtime story in a couple of days.  So I felt kind of crappy about that.

I forgot my mp3 player, so I had to listen to songs like “Cat in the Cradle” and every other song about losing the family, the wife, the girlfriend, whatever.  Which made me feel even worse.  Not enough to just leave and surprise him and tell him a story though. 

Sometimes when I get home he’s awake, but he was asleep tonight.  So I left a note by his bed that said that I was sorry and I would read him an extra story when he got home from school tomorrow and have a snowball fight with him.  brb neglecting fatherly duties for a piss-poor squat.

High Bar Squat: 45×4, 135×3, 220×2, 295, 335, 365, 385, 395; 365×1,1,1,2

The gym was pretty empty, except for the stripper who made a surprise late appearance.  But disappointingly she was wearing a fleece and long black pants.  And just doing cardio.  Oh yeah, and because I didn’t have my headphones on, some old guy was trying to get me to join his group that welcomes returning troops at the the airport.  He was pretty good at it, but I am pretty good at saying no to things I don’t feel like doing.

Close Grip Bench: 45×10, 95×3, 145×3, 185×2, 225, 265; 280×2,3

I think I am sick of this exercise.  It feels shitty in my shoulders and pecs.  Still like floor press though.  Maybe reinstate push press?  Maybe try some of these things:

JM Press: 135×5, 165×5, 185×5, 205×3

Just fooling around.  I am never totally sure how to do these.  A dark-horse candidate.

Military Press: 45×5, 95×4, 135×3

trying it, Broz was against the Bench/Mil Press EOD thing.  I probably am too.  Another alternative is to do light presses/light tri work on alt days, interspersed with: Floor Press, Med Grip Bench, Bench.  Probably this will be the plan.  Maybe try push presses one more time, 1st.

Snatch Grip Deadlift: 135×3, 205, 275, 345, 395, 410

At least something went right.

RDL: 275×3, 280×4

Front Squat: 135, 225, 275, 295, 310, 320; 265×1,3

all sets except 310,320 and the triple were with no strap grip

Cable Row: 1 set

Chinups: 2 sets

so actually felt better than last night.  Tomorrow I must workout in the morning since the gym closes early Fri Sat Sun.  I am thinking of maybe (maybe) pussying out on my plan to do nothing but HBS.  I dunno.  I sort of like the low-bar work too, at least I could handle heavy weights and set PRs in that.  We’ll see…


10 thoughts on “Worst Father Ever

      • I would give it a try. they are harder (unless you have severe shoulder/elbow issues that they alleviate.) They seem to crumple you like a front squat can. Good stuff though for raw squatters IMO. This one gym I go to has about 10 different kinds of safety squat bars and I’ve used a variety, so I couldn’t tell you which ones are standard. My favorite are the ones with the longer harness/arms. The short ones can dig into a collarbone. Let me know what you think. I mean post it on your blog.

  1. You should have told him the story about Z.

    My mom complained about my dad’s gym going, too. Sometimes he’d play basketball for a couple hours at a park after picking us up from school, and all me and my sisters could do for that time was like sit or write in a notebook or attempt to do homework. It might not have been a park. It might have been a random elementary school blacktop basketball court him and his friends used.

    My mom complained my dad didn’t spend enough time with people, it’s actually just that my sister’s didn’t wanna go with me and my dad to hang around a machine shop or with his friends drinking beer talking about the New World Order.

    PS my dad could front squat to parallel 315lbs at 220 or so. Could also clean and jerk (I’m betting with a pressout) 260lbs and power snatch 170lbs. My dad finally stopped lifting when he tore his bicep somehow.

    I’ll probably have to invest in a home gym once I get another job. So I don’t have to show up at like 5-6PM like all the other normal humans do. And so I could work out at like 1AM if I wanted.

    • I guess I was lucky re: dad sports. My dad ran (still runs) 5Ks and played volleyball one night a week. But his big thing was this coed slow-pitch office softball league. He was the starting pitcher and the top singles hitter. His boss was the coach/player, and a nerd who would produce a weekly stats sheet/newsletter (yes, on state time). My brother and I liked going to the games because we’d just roam around this college campus while my mom read magazines – I mean cheered for him. Sometimes he’d take us to this bar afterwards and we’d eat wings. I remember being very impressed with his statistics, like he’d have an .800 OBP or something and I was proud of him. (Two guys on his team were juicing btw). Years later, when I was in high school, I played a few games for them when they were short a player. Honestly, it was pretty nerve-wracking for me, I mean I didn’t want to let him or his team down.

  2. Dad never did anything physical cya. My brother was a body builder during his teens now he quit but he gave me something to look up to. Pretty much im the first generation of somewhat athletic person from my family. Line is probably going to end with me so it’s okay.
    Honestly you don’t seem like a shity dad. I mean I know we have different cultures and barriers but my dad never read me stories or played with me. Now mostly even if we live together I mostly try to avoid him. It’s sad but I was never close to him. Just make sure youdodon’t drift apart with tour kid.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s