Читать книгу The Meathead Manifesto - Brody McVittie - Страница 13

You cheat.

Whether you admit it or not, there’s that exercise, for that body part—the one you just can’t get down pat. Right?

I don’t care if you call it a Romanian Deadlift or a Turkish Get-Up or the dreaded squat; there’s that one that lags behind, the one whose motion never feels quite natural.

(Lat Pulldowns, I’m looking at you.)

That exercise you can never push (or pull) quite enough of whatever-your-weight is on; the one that threatens to defeat you each and every time you see it on the docket for the day.

So you belly up to the bar, content on telling yourself today is the day it’s going to be different, and you load whatever weight you think you can move on. (*Hint—it’s too much.)

And for the next six or ten or however-many-you-think-you-can reps, you suffer your dignity and your form (--but not your pride!) and you move that damn weight.

And you cheat the whole time.

It’s an ego thing—maybe two weeks ago, you moved said weight, your form only kinda pathetic.

Then again, maybe kinda pathetic was two years ago, and you can’t admit that you’re not as functionally strong anymore.

There’s hope for you yet (provided you haven’t thrown your back out swaying violently with each pull on the Seated Row machine.)

Tighten that TVA.