Have you ever seen the movie Memento? in The Napkin.

It’s part of why I got some of my tattoos.

The meaning should be clear.

I got of my tattoos as reminders to myself. At the time, I had a bit more of a resilient headspace. A struggling, a fighting headspace. I knew it would fade, so I wanted to remember.

For as long as I’ve lived, I have had a fear of losing my memory. It’s really handy shit to have physical reminders on yourself. Permanent, unless you run across a KGB member with a scalpel.

(Rocky IV suddenly isn’t seeming so campy lately, ha ha.)

Woke up this morning feeling as shitty as I did when I went to sleep. Got my requisite two days of rest. It’s not that I didn’t want to go to the gym. I probably would have gone anyway. But the thing with motivation vs routine is that, well. Hardcore gymmers aren’t always motivated. We just go because.

It’s not like some triumphant song rang in my head. There was no motivational speech. No adrenaline. I happened to notice my tattoo and “oh yeah. I’ll feel better afterwards.”

Euphoric, no. Was it a great workout? Eh, it was a training session, like many others. Punching the clock, in a way. Matched or added repetitions, which is always the goal.

It’s a low bar. But it’s my bar. (Barbell, anyone?) I still have a difficult time giving myself credit. If I ever sound overly complimentary of myself, it’s because I can’t feel it easily.

Speaking of, tomorrow is Deadlift Day. I know it sounds weird, but I like lifting the day before Deadlift Day. Kind of warms me up? Going in after a day or two off makes me worry that OMG, I’VE LOST ALL MY STRENGTH.

I pulled 325 lbs for a double last month. I’ve been warming up with 315 lbs just to get past the mental hump of seeing three plates.

Here’s hoping I can get rid of all the allergy crap in my flat and my eyes stop being bloodshot. Full head of hair, yes. But god damn, my eyesight had been dying since I moved south of the Mason-Dixon line.

McCoy to Kirk: “Here’s to perfect eyesight and a full head of hair.”