Your Triceps are Weak and You’re a Hot Mess

See this guy? See his frontal appendages? See how weak they are? So are mine. I have T-Rex triceps.

I don’t intend to post every repetition of every set of every lift I complete in each of my daily workout sessions on this blog. If that’s what you’re looking for, I send you on your way empty-handed. I do plan on commenting on remarkable aspects of a given workout when something of sufficient magnitude takes place during one; failing out on the second rep of my second set of squats at 155 a week or two ago would have met the criteria for being mentioned in this blog. That was a dark day on which many an appreciably immature sulk was to be had, and this blog’s readership will have missed the bulk of said sulking because I wasn’t blogging at that time. Your belated sympathy is a comfort and I thank you for it. Moving on.

Today’s remarkable event was, very simply, a Discovery of Weakness (from this day forward to be included in the tags, gentle reader–take note). My triceps suck. I’m strong at a variety of “pushing” exercises such as shoulder press, dumbbell bench, et al because I have managed to use my delts, traps, and who knows what else to perform them. Do I have triceps? Yes. And they are fleshy. My arms are not proportionately that small in comparison to the rest of my body, and it’s not all bicep, alright? Well, yeah, a lot of it is bicep. Or I have an appreciable amount of bicep. But some of the arm bulk is tricep, and apparently whatever tricep is there is basically for show. That might have been okay when I was thinking about going out for physique-based competitions, but as my goals have now shifted to a sport that is all about strength, not aesthetics, weak triceps are even more useless than they might otherwise have been. I am now performing close-grip bench as well as a particular variety of cable tricep pushdown in order to correct my deficiency.

I’m going to cut things off here for your sanity and in the name of my completing mundane chores. Some of these chores might involve my T-Rex triceps. A narcissistic picture-post accompanied by what is sure to be academic discussion of what it means to have any amount of muscle as a woman to come in the near future. A lot of posts with that theme are projected for the future, actually–and yes, many of them WILL be accompanied by pictures–because this is my blog and I will be as much an exhibitionistic self-centered lifting freak here as I see fit. I mean, it can’t get as bad as Zyzz. No, it can’t. Maybe it can.

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