[MEET REPORT] King of The Cave | 1741.6lbs @ 245.6lbs | 465.7 DOTS | WRPF | Single Ply

Well, I will start with the good things because there weren't very many of them. Nothing got injured. The meet was run very well. This was my 50th time competing in powerlifting and the following information should make an excellent case for me still not knowing what the fuck I am doing.

On to the litany of things that sucked. Two days before I weighed in, I was 267lbs. My goal was to compete at 242 but it's hard to do that when you sabotage your own diet and fuck it all up. I started a slower weight cut months before the meet and it was going fine. Then, two weeks out, I went to a family reunion and spent about 72 straight hours stuffing my face and getting hammered. Whatever calories I cut over the two previous months were re-consumed in that time frame and my soft shitty body responded very well to them. I did a pretty east water manipulation a week before the weigh in, cut out salt and carbs about 36 hours out, fasted and did a couple HIT sessions to attempt to deplete my glycogen (which I calculated out to about 15lbs of my total bodyweight), and then spent about an hour total in my sauna the morning of the weigh in. This got me down to 245lbs. I hate weight cuts. I don't advocate for them ever, but I had some personal goals I was trying to hit that were all pretty much immediately out the fucking window when I didn't make 242. I had my weight back up in the 260's by that afternoon so I was hoping that it wouldn't negatively impact my lifts too much. But, oh boy, I was wrong.

Squat: I opened with a 600lb squat that looked like an empty bar. I was feeling a little tired and the polar opposite of anything resembling being "fired up," but this flew. Even though my motivation for the day felt like something akin to soul diarrhea, I was happy about this and thought the day could possibly go well. The moment I unracked my second attempt, 633lbs, my brain immediately started screaming, "PUT IT BACK DIPSHIT, PUT IT BACK!" Me, being the seasoned experienced competitor that I am, completely ignored the cascade of biological-left-over-Neanderthals'-survival-mechanism messages that were flooding every inch of the inside of my body and walked the weight out anyway. To really drive home how absolutely fucked I obviously subconsciously wanted this squat to be, I got my feet set somewhere between a full fucking split and a lunge. The decent actually felt alright. It was out of the hole that I realized two things:

1. I didn't brace at all
2. I have a very durable spine

About halfway up, my suit felt like it was trying to shove my body out of it and I lost the bar going forward. The spotters and loaders were top notch all day. This was a good thing because the first 5 rows of spectators would have been killed if they didn't save my life as well. I scratched my third because I just didn't want to do that again.

Bench: Weirdly, this is my worst lift and the only one that went well. 402 and 435 were about as easy as bench presses have ever been for me in a meet. 451 on my third would have been the most I have benched since a pretty catastrophic shoulder injury and surgery a couple years ago. Key word, "would." For a reason I will never understand, I decided that the best position for me to press out of would be with my back completely flat on the bench and me aiming the bar at my fucking knees off my chest. Luckily, again, the spotters caught the bar before I could crush injury induce an evisceration on myself.

Realistically, I only sign up for these stupid fucking things to deadlift anyway so I wasn't super bummed out... yet...

Deadlift: I am pretty sure my 705 opener is still floating around in outer space somewhere. This could have been a power clean. I went to pull 766 on my second, got it up to my knee in about a millisecond, and then just didn't feel like doing it anymore. I had pitched way forward and again completely forgot that bracing was important. I can't even explain that fatigue I was feeling at this point. All I wanted was to sit down have have a bourbon. Scratched my third, took all my shit off, couldn't find my pants, and called it a day.

Something was definitely off the day after. I am almost never sore from competing. My hips and middle/upper back were so lit up when I got out of bed the next morning that I thought I slipped a disc in my sleep.

50 meets I have done and this was probably one of the worst ones I've ever had without actually bombing out. Whatever. 14 weeks until Nationals in Vegas. That should be plenty of time to unfuck my stupid body.