Buncha pics II: No Limits and Training Camp

Feeling weirdly let down. Since I've been back, everything is kind of a chore. I don't want to train, I don't want to talk about the competition, I could barely make myself go to my eye doctor appointment today. My laundry is in a heap on the bed. I have found myself feeling wistful for the 8-hour layover in Frankfurt when we were all desperately trying to get some sleep. I didn't get to say goodbye to Moratz, the Internet cafe guy. When we arrived at LAX on Monday afternoon, we all scattered kind of quickly. We didn't have a chance to decompress and celebrate together, really. They even tried to herd us onto the bus from the venue about 5 minutes after we finished on Sunday.

I think I'm mildly depressed. I'm not sure why. You'd think I'd be thrilled and gratified and excited, especially because I won, especially because the US swept the tournament. But I'm weary and sluggish and catastrophizing. I guess I'll just get over it eventually. It was just such an intense experience, and now it's over, and now it's time to start dealing with the things I put on the back burner.

I don't mean to be ungrateful. I think it's actually the fact that I had such an amazing experience that is causing the low mood. It seems that even things that are positive have challenging aspects to them. I've heard friends who have gotten married say the same thing. Starting an exciting new job. Moving to a better location. All that crap. So I guess I'm not crazy, or no crazier than I thought I was. But it's just kinda sucky.

Okay, I'm gonna post some more pics. That will make me feel productive and will also enable me to walk down Memory Lane a little bit. Here are some more pics from the training camp.

Crystina in the foreground. Sanchez, Jason, Ricky, Darren in the background. Hanging out before the morning training session. We were all feeling sluggish.

Ryan and Malcolm

Red Bull and protein bar: Breakfast of Midget, the champion.

Lisa sideways, getting ready to train. No clue why I can't get the picture to rotate.

Warming up. (Okay, I fixed the contrast on these pictures, but it doesn't seem to be sticking. Not sure what's going on.)

Sanchez and Darren. Is that downward dog?

After stretching it was on to lifting. Here's Midget!

Malcolm!

Darren using valuable glycogen!

Felicia

A row of grapplers lifting. (The footwear is a dead giveaway.)

Coach Bob spotting Ricky.

Thanks to Jason for the artistic up-the-nose shot.

Chris feeling the burn.

Juliano, sweating in his I Wasted My Pretty Years on You t-shirt.

"The Don" Ortega! Okay, that's not really his nickname, but I'm hoping to make it stick.

Ryan!

Lisa!

Sanchez! (You know, I knew Sanchez was a great wrestler with terrific facial expressions--to be experienced soon--and impeccable fashion sense, but I recently learned that he also has a wrestling move or two named after him. He's that good. Wow. I should be much nicer to him than I am.)

Post-lifting chick pic. Lisa, Midget, Crystina, Felicia, me. And Superman!

The ladies with Coach Bob. I swear, one time I saw Bob in the buffet line at the hotel in Turkey but I didn't recognize him because he was wearing a polo shirt. Bob should just be the way he is: no hair, no neck, no sleeves.