Finished Workout Quotes

How’s the book?” he drawled later, when he’d finished his workout and I’d grabbed the closest book I could find before he entered the living room. “Riveting.” I tried to focus on the page instead of the way Rhys’s sweat-dampened shirt clung to his torso. Six-pack abs for sure. Maybe even an eight-pack. Not that I was counting. “Sure seems that way.” Rhys’s face remained impassive, but I could hear the mocking bent in his voice. He walked to the bathroom, and without looking back, he added, “By the way, princess, the book is upside down.” I slammed the hardcover shut, my skin blazing with embarrassment.

It wasn't until my late twenties that I learned that by working out I had given myself a great gift. I learned that nothing good comes without work and a certain amount of pain. When I finish a set that leaves me shaking, I know more about myself. When something gets bad, I know it can't be as bad as that workout.

There is a tendency to treat our relationship with Jesus like the diet we keep meaning to start. I’m going to start eating right, as soon as I finish off this chicken chimichanga. Tomorrow for sure. We treat our relationship with Jesus like the workout program we keep meaning to start. We go to bed telling ourselves, “Tomorrow I’m going to wake up early and exercise.” But the following night we find ourselves getting into bed promising, “Tomorrow for sure.

They jogged along for another half mile, their increasingly laboured breaths punctuated by Bernie's gasps of "great" and "fantastic" whenever Davey showed his style. "Good workout," Bernie said when they reached the finish line and began to walk. "You should run during the year too, Beckwith. I mean, how the hell do you stay so thin? You don't even play squash." "I worry a lot," said Bob and kept walking.

The process is about finishing. Finishing games. Finishing workouts. Finishing film sessions. Finishing drives. Finishing reps. Finishing plays. Finishing blocks. Finishing

Jeanne, who belonged to a book club where no one ever finished the book. Jeanne, whose primary workout was swimming.

The process is about finishing. Finishing games. Finishing workouts. Finishing film sessions. Finishing drives. Finishing reps. Finishing plays. Finishing blocks. Finishing the smallest task you have right in front of you and finishing it well.

efficiently means providing slots in our schedules where we can maintain an attentional set for an extended period. This allows us to get more done and finish up with more energy. Related to the manager/worker distinction is that the prefrontal cortex contains circuits responsible for telling us whether we’re controlling something or someone else is. When we set up a system, this part of the brain marks it as self-generated. When we step into someone else’s system, the brain marks it that way. This may help explain why it’s easier to stick with an exercise program or diet that someone else sets up: We typically trust them as “experts” more than we trust ourselves. “My trainer told me to do three sets of ten reps at forty pounds—he’s a trainer, he must know what he’s talking about. I can’t design my own workout—what do I know?” It takes Herculean amounts of discipline to overcome the brain’s bias against self-generated motivational systems. Why? Because as with the fundamental attribution error we saw in Chapter 4, we don’t have access to others’ minds, only our own. We are painfully aware of all the fretting and indecision, all the nuances of our internal decision-making process that led us to reach a particular conclusion. (I really need to get serious about exercise.) We don’t have access to that (largely internal) process in others, so we tend to take their certainty as more compelling, in many cases, than our own. (Here’s your program. Do it every day.)

How are you this morning? You get up in time for your workout?" "Yeah. Just finished that. It was just a run... well, a run in full combat uniform including our packs, but it was only five miles so not so bad." Her eyes opened wide. "Oh, sure. That's nothing. I do at least that every morning, you know, before tea.

Saban’s process is exclusively this—existing in the present, taking it one step at a time, not getting distracted by anything else. Not the other team, not the scoreboard or the crowd. The process is about finishing. Finishing games. Finishing workouts. Finishing film sessions. Finishing drives. Finishing reps. Finishing plays. Finishing blocks. Finishing the smallest task you have right in front of you and finishing it well. Whether

Ella?” Cinder asked when things got quiet. “Are you there?” He sounded hesitant. “Welcome to my life,” I said with a sigh of defeat. “Sorry about that.” “It’s okay.” It was definitely not okay. I was so humiliated. It was a miracle I wasn’t crying. I think that was only because I was still in so much shock. “Look, thanks for giving me your phone number, but maybe this is a bad time.” My dad scrambled to his feet, waving his hands at me. “No! You don’t have to end your call. We’ll give you some privacy.” He glanced at both Jennifer and Juliette. “Won’t we, ladies?” His blatant desperation for me to talk to someone—even a stranger from the Internet—was as embarrassing as Anastasia’s outburst. Even worse, Jennifer was just as bad. “Of course! You go ahead and talk to your boyfriend, Ella,” she squealed. “We can keep an eye on you from the kitchen. I have to get dinner started anyway.” While I was busy dying from her use of the word boyfriend, she hopped off the elliptical. She hurried to catch up to my dad, seeming more than happy to finish her workout early. As they started up the steps, they both turned back to Juliette, who had sprawled out on the couch instead of getting up. “I was here first,” Juliette said in response to their expectant looks. “There’s no way I’m going anywhere near the upstairs with Ana in the mood she’s in, and I really don’t care about Ella’s love life. Besides, she’s not supposed to be alone, anyway. What if she tries to throw herself off the balcony or something?” Was there anyone in the world that didn’t feel the need to humiliate me? I glared at Juliette, and she just waved a pair of earbuds at me and shoved them in her ears. “I’ll turn the volume up.” My dad and Jennifer both gave me such hopeful looks that I couldn’t argue anymore. I rolled my eyes and made my way over to the armchair my father had been lounging in. Once Dad and Jennifer were gone, I glanced over at the couch. Juliette was already doing what she did best—ignoring me. She was bobbing her head along with her music as she read out of a textbook. I doubted she could hear me, but I spoke softly anyway, just in case. “Cinder? Are you still there?” “I didn’t realize upping our relationship to phone buddies would come with a boyfriend title. Does that mean if we ever meet in person, we’ll have to get married?” Surprised, I burst into laughter. Juliette glanced at me with one raised eyebrow, but went back to her textbook without saying anything.

If a mini-habit isn’t working, it’s probably just too big. Make it smaller and let it grow organically. Committing to one workout per day might not sound like much, but it can easily get lost in the whirlpool of daily living. Trim it down to something stupidly easy, quick, and unskippable: a couple of sets of body-weight exercises to failure or a 15-minute walk, for example. The mini-habit tool is incredibly versatile. You can apply it to just about any endeavor and immediately reap the benefits. For example… • Read five pages of the book you want to finish. • Write 50 words on your project. • Do 10 minutes of that exercise DVD. • Lift weights one day per week. • Practice your yoga poses for 5 minutes. • Follow your meal plan for one day. • Cook one new recipe per week. • Give one compliment per day. • Replace one cup of soda with water. You get the idea. So, what major, scary change do you want to make in your life? And what’s the stupidest, simplest action you can take every day to nudge the needle in that direction? There’s your breadcrumb of a mini-habit. Pick it up and see where the trail takes you.

I missed my workout this morning, so I vault up the stairs to my flat. Breakfast has taken longer than intended, and I'm expecting Oliver at any minute. Part of me also hopes that Alessia will still be there. As I approach my front door, I hear music coming from the flat. Music? What's going on? I slide my key into the lock and cautiously open the door. It's Bach, one of his preludes in G Major. Perhaps Alessia is playing music through my computer. But how can she? She doesn't know the password. Does she? Maybe she's playing her phone through the sound system, though from the look of her tatty anorak she doesn't strike me as someone who has a smartphone. I've never seen her with one. The music rings through my flat, lighting up its darkest corners. Who knew that my daily likes classical? This is a tiny piece of the Alessia Demachi puzzle. Quickly I close the door, but as I stand in the hallway, it becomes apparent that the music is not coming from the sound system. It's from my piano. Bach. Fluid and light, played with a deftness and understanding I've only heard from concert-standard performers. Alessia? I've never managed to make my piano sing like this. Taking off my shoes, I creep down the hallway and peer around the door into the drawing room. She is seated at the piano in her housecoat and scarf, swaying a little, completely lost in the music, her eyes closed in concentration as her hands move with graceful dexterity across the keys. The music flows through her, echoing off the walls and ceiling in a flawless performance worthy of any concert pianist. I watch her in awe as she plays, her head bowed. She is brilliant. In every way. And I'm completely spellbound. She finishes the prelude, and I step back into the hall, flattening myself against the wall in case she looks up, not daring to breath. However, without missing a beat she goes straight into the fugue. I lean against the wall and close my eyes, marveling at her artistry and the feeling that she puts into each phrase. I'm carried away by the music, and as I listen, I realize that she wasn't reading the music. She's playing from memory. Good God. She's a fucking virtuoso. And I remember her intense focus when she examined my score while she was dusting the piano. Clearly she was reading the music. Shit. She plays at this standard and she was reading my composition? The fugue ends, and seamlessly she launches into another piece. Again Bach, Prelude in C-sharp Major, I think.

In the chaos of sport, as in life, process provides us a way. It says: Okay, you’ve got to do something very difficult. Don’t focus on that. Instead break it down into pieces. Simply do what you need to do right now. And do it well. And then move on to the next thing. Follow the process and not the prize. The road to back-to-back championships is just that, a road. And you travel along a road in steps. Excellence is a matter of steps. Excelling at this one, then that one, and then the one after that. Saban’s process is exclusively this—existing in the present, taking it one step at a time, not getting distracted by anything else. Not the other team, not the scoreboard or the crowd. The process is about finishing. Finishing games. Finishing workouts. Finishing film sessions. Finishing drives. Finishing reps. Finishing plays. Finishing blocks. Finishing the smallest task you have right in front of you and finishing it well. Whether it’s pursuing the pinnacle of success in your field or simply surviving some awful or trying ordeal, the same approach works. Don’t think about the end—think about surviving. Making it from meal to meal, break to break, checkpoint to checkpoint, paycheck to paycheck, one day at a time. And when you really get it right, even the hardest things become manageable. Because the process is relaxing. Under its influence, we needn’t panic. Even mammoth tasks become just a series of component parts.

To this day, I am still not sure what it was about Chip Gaines that made me give him a second chance--because, basically, our first date was over before it even started. I was working at my father’s Firestone automotive shop the day we first met. I’d worked as my dad’s office manager through my years at Baylor University and was perfectly happy working there afterward while I tried to figure out what I really wanted to do with my life. The smell of tires, metal, and grease--that place was like a second home to me, and the guys in the shop were all like my big brothers. On this particular afternoon, they all started teasing me. “You should go out to the lobby, Jo. There’s a hot guy out there. Go talk to him!” they said. “No,” I said. “Stop it! I’m not doing that.” I was all of twenty-three, and I wasn’t exactly outgoing. She was a bit awkward--no doubt about that. I hadn’t dated all that much, and I’d never had a serious relationship--nothing that lasted longer than a month or two. I’d always been an introvert and still am (believe it or not). I was also very picky, and I just wasn’t the type of girl who struck up conversations with guys I didn’t know. I was honestly comfortable being single; I didn’t think that much of it. “Who is this guy, anyway?” I asked, since they all seemed to know him for some reason. “Oh, they call him Hot John,” someone said, laughing. Hot John? There was no way I was going out in that lobby to strike up a conversation with some guy called Hot John. But the guys wouldn’t let up, so I finally said, “Fine.” I gathered up a few things from my desk (in case I needed a backup plan) and rounded the corner into the lobby. I quickly realized that Hot John was pretty good-looking. He’d obviously just finished a workout--he was dressed head-to-toe in cycling gear and was just standing there, innocently waiting on someone from the back. I tried to think about what I might say to strike up a conversation when I got close enough and quickly settled on the obvious topic: cycling. But just as that thought raced through my head, he looked up from his magazine and smiled right at me. Crap, I thought. I completely lost my nerve. I kept on walking right past him and out the lobby’s front door. When I reached the safety of my dad’s outdoor waiting area, I realized just how bad I’d needed the fresh air. I sat on a chair a few down from another customer and immediately started laughing at myself. Did I really just do that?

Eat carbs in the medium–high range of the glycemic index (60-90 is a good rule of thumb) about 30 minutes before you exercise, and again within 30 minutes of finishing your workout.

As I prepare for my marathon qualifier, I continue to run on Wednesdays with the regular group. We continue to navigate a path near Shorter’s house. His name still comes up frequently, as it has since I arrived in town. We’ll be running along the foothills or perhaps finishing up a workout back atop Mapleton Hill. Someone will say they saw Shorter at the liquor store and he was as warm and friendly as can be. Someone else will say he saw Shorter somewhere else, perhaps at McGuckin Hardware, and Frank couldn’t have been more of a jerk. Before I met with him, I’d come to see him the way many in Boulder see him: mysterious and difficult, a seemingly selfish man on a mockable crusade to win a gold medal to match the gold medal he already has. I’d grown certain that he was a miserable soul locked away in his house, the lonely long-distance runner stewing in demons of his own design.

Many of us tell ourselves a story that we don’t have time for Stillness. That there’s so much to do at work and at home that we can’t make space for mental breaks. However, you need breaks. Imagine if you finished a hard workout, and immediately afterward you told yourself you had to do another hour of intense exercise. That would be crazy, right? You would insist on a break to catch your breath, drink some water, and slow your heart rate. Just like your body, your mind needs time to relax and recover. If you ask it to keep going at top speed all day and into the evening, eventually you’re not going to be productive.

A – means you felt like Superman and had plenty in reserve. B – means it was a good workout. You completed the task with no problem. C – means you did the workout but felt flat or off. D – means you could not finish the planned workout or had to reduce it. F – means you could not train that day due to fatigue or illness.

As you finish your training, the "Push to Stop" automated braking system may bring the bike to a halt promptly, preventing harm. These indoor bike caged pedals protect your foot from slipping as you work out. You may move the equipment with the help of the front transportation wheels. The triangular construction is highly loaded for stability and strength, and it can support up to 100kg of user weight. With the tension adjustment, you may change the intensity of your workout.

The first step in dealing with negative automatic thoughts about a task or plan is to catch them by asking, “What am I thinking right now?” These thoughts often do not occur in the form of grammatically correct sentences, but may be expressed in brief phrases (e.g., “Oh no,” “I hate this stuff,” a string of expletives, etc.). In fact, sometimes procrastination starts with an accurate statement (e.g., “The gym is crowded after work.”), but that can kick off a string of assumptions that result in procrastination (e.g., “I won’t be able to find any open machines. It will either take me 3 hours to finish my workout or I won’t be able to do my full workout. I’m tired and I’m not up to dealing with crowds tonight. There is no use in going to the gym.”). The subsequent evening spent watching lousy television shows while eating way too many cheese puffs leads to self-critical thoughts and frustration with the missed workout (e.g., “I could have gone to the gym. I would have been done by now. Now I have to find time to make up this workout.”). At the outset, it is vital to be aware of how your thoughts make you prone to procrastinate. Automatic thoughts are often distorted and impact your feelings about tasks. Hence, you start to psych yourself out of doing something without having a chance to get started on it, which increases the likelihood of resorting to avoiding the task through an escape behavior. In Chapter 7, we will discuss in greater detail some of the distorted thoughts and strategies for modifying them, particularly with regard to the emotions they trigger, including pure and simple discomfort about a task (i.e., “Ugh”). When dealing with procrastination, however, the most common distortion we encounter is magnification/minimization. That is, you pull out and embellish all the negative elements about performing a task and you overlook or play down the positive elements and your ability to handle the task in question.

One d-day,” Old Gertrude muttered, in an agonizingly slow and leathery voice that suggested she was actually closer to two hundred years old, “there is going to be … a gigantic f-fish … called Brian ….” “Yes?” asked Yam, scribbling down her every word frantically (which was unnecessary, because she left such long pauses in between her words that he could have written them down, climbed to the top of one of the highest jungle trees bordering the village, tamed the fifty or so parrots living in its branches, and then come down again before she even said the next thing). Gertrude’s lips quivered. “It is going to eat ….” “Eat, yes, what’s it going to eat?” cried the Chief. Gertrude’s whole body was shaking from the sheer effort now. Sweat ran down her brow. Her blank face had morphed into a look of such concentration that it could probably be considered a workout. The whole village leaned forward, their breaths held in excitement. “It is going to eat,” Old Gertrude whispered …. “Yes!?” cried the Chief. “THE SUN,” Old Gertrude finished. Steve gawped in disbelief. “A fish is going to eat the sun?” “BRILLIANT!” shouted Yam, hurriedly writing the last words of Old Gertrude’s newest prediction into the book. “SHE’S DONE IT AGAIN!” bellowed the Chief—and with that, the entire village erupted into an enormous cheer—with the exception of Gertrude herself, that was, who had sagged in relief now the sheer effort of verbalizing her ‘prediction’ was over. “HURRAH FOR OLD GERTRUDE!” chorused the village. Chuck clucked crossly, rustling his feathers. “Hmph.” “AND ALL HAIL THE ONE TRUE KING, OF COURSE!” the natives added. Chuck stopped his rustling. “Better.” “Get her back to her hut and put her in bed, Yam,” said the Chief. “She looks like she’s about to fall over.” Yam nodded, then scooped up Old Gertrude and hurried her away, at rather a quicker pace than he’d brought her out at. “So, there you go,” said the Chief, looking pleased. “You’ve witnessed one of Old Gertrude’s amazing predictions. A gigantic fish eating the sun, eh? Madness! I do hope I’m alive to see it!

Whatever happens to us in life, we must aim to keep things net positive. When you have a shitty day, it’s tempting to call it an early night and try to forget about it, but if you go to bed in the red, chances are you’ll wake up that way, and all too often, that type of negativity snowballs. When your entire day is fucked up, make sure that you achieve something positive before lights out. You’ll probably have to stay up a bit later to read, study, get a workout in, or clean the house. Whatever it takes to go to bed in the black, get it done.

Whatever happens to us in life, we must aim to keep things net positive. When you have a shitty day, it’s tempting to call it an early night and try to forget about it, but if you go to bed in the red, chances are you’ll wake up that way, and all too often, that type of negativity snowballs. When your entire day is fucked up, make sure that you achieve something positive before lights out. You’ll probably have to stay up a bit later to read, study, get a workout in, or clean the house. Whatever it takes to go to bed in the black, get it done. That’s how you stay net positive on the day to day, and when that becomes automatic, it will be so much easier to see any emotional tripwires coming, which will help you strategize around them.

As you learn to be your own coach, be aware of your impatience. Keep it in check. Remind yourself before a hard workout or race that you must contain your emotions early on in order to finish strongly.

I was proud of him, but I was also proud of myself. I'd had a minimal amount of time to get in shape to qualify for one of the hardest jobs in the world. It had been a demanding journey, with agony an ever-present shadow. Yet at thirteen weeks post-surgery, I rode my bike 444 miles. At eight months, I ran forty-eight miles in forty-five hours, and at nine months, I was challenging twenty-somethings in everything from running to rucking to pull-ups to hauling heavy shit a hell of a long way. But I wasn't out to take their souls. This young group inspired me. I wanted to push them like they were pushing me because they were the next generation of hard, and though I did like winning my fair share of runs and workouts, I liked it even better when they got me. p286

People who’ve spent time on high country trails know the heartbreak of a false summit. When all you want is for the incline to stop kicking your ass, it tricks you into thinking you’ve made it, only to reveal that you aren’t even close! But you don’t have to be a trail rat to know that feeling. In life, there are plenty of false summits. Maybe you think you’ve rocked an assignment at work or school, only to have your teacher or supervisor rip it to pieces or tell you to start over again. False summits can come in the gym when you’re doing a hard circuit workout and think you’ve hit the last set, only to hear from your coach or trainer—or from a quick glance at your own notes—that you have to go back through the entire circuit one last time. We all take a punch like that every once in a while, but those who tend to crane their necks looking for the crest of the mountain as they beg for their suffering to end are the ones who get smashed the most by any false summit. We have to learn to stop looking for a sign that the hard time will end. When the distance is unknown, it is even more critical that you stay locked in so the unknown factor doesn’t steal your focus. The end will come when it comes, and anticipation will only distract you from completing the task in front of you to the best of your ability. Remember, the struggle is the whole journey. That’s why you’re out there. It’s why you signed up for this race, or that class, or took the damn job. There is great beauty when you are involved in something that is so hard most people want it to end. When Hell Week ended, most of the guys who survived cheered, wept tears of joy, high-fived, or hugged one another. I got the Hell Week blues because I’d been immersed in the beauty of grinding through it and the personal growth that came with it.

all you'll need to do is one intense work out a week and one less intense but longer work out each week.

Let your students monitor their breathing. If they are huffing and puffing, tell them to pace themselves. This is their workout. If they cannot keep up with the fast beat of the music, suggest they train to the slow beat. This is not a race. There is no finish line. It takes as long as it takes.

from one end of the deck to the other and back again, lunging and spinning until my muscles burned and the deck was sprinkled with sweat. I finished the workout sprawled on my back, my T-shirt wet and growing cold.