Batshit

 

My friend Batty put out the call for some real-people versions of those ubiquitous facebook fitness motivational posters.

So, yeah. You knew this was coming.

T totalling

Some things are easy to gauge — strength and endurance and weight — because we have the tools at our disposal to measure them. Other things are trickier — sleep quality, or various nutritional balances — but still within the realm of doable for someone who is attentive and attuned to how their body works. But for some things, there’s no real substitute for professional diagnostics and evaluation.

And this brings us to today’s subject, which is going to come as something of a surprise to most readers.

Your not so humble scribe has what has somewhat coyly become known as “Low T.”

Nemesis

“I’m an easy thing to hurt yourself against.”

– Uisgebaugh, Blood and Iron (Elizabeth Bear)

I joke with an old friend (that is, a friend of long acquaintance, not one of advanced years. She is STILL twenty-nine, some-fucking-how) about being her “sexy nemesis,” because I don’t pull any rhetorical punches in our friendship, and gleefully fuck with her when I think she’s getting too complacent.

This is my standard modus operandi in many things; my younger, more pretentious self wrote a first-person essay from Satan’s POV about trafficking in doubt, for instance. Be that as it may, presenting a challenge, an obstacle, or a target is something I tend to do whether I mean to or not.

Weekend Workouts

15/9/3: Overhead Press (Friday) | Deadlifts (Sunday)

It’s also “weigh and measure weekend,” though I don’t know if I’ll snap some progress pictures to share or not. Feeling a little squidgy after entirely too much coffee and some much-needed beer.

OHP Friday frankly kind of sucked.  Deadlifting on Sunday went better.

Over and Under

I’m just going to assume the over/under on every Bills game this season is 9 points above whatever the opposing team’s average points per game is, since I think the boys in blue have a chance at coming in under 150 points scored this season unless they decide to play without a quarterback at all.

That bitching aside…

Lunchtime saw me working on my dips. I hate dips. Haaaaate. 2×10 sandwiched a 1×20, which sucked a lot. So did medicine-ball rolling my traps, rhomboids, delts and quads – interesting popping and crunching sensations ensue.

Signs

In and among the various diagnostic bits of conversation I shared with the folks at the orthopedist’s office, some nice things were said about my phisical health and general wellness, which was nice to hear, and reassuring. However, what struck me most at the time was when, in the course of the examination, the doctor said, “You have a lot of callouses.”

“I lift weights.”

It was, at the time, nothing but the simple truth (or the simple iron truth – the fellow who does that site is a kindred spirit; worth the read). Upon further reflection, it seems to suggest a bit more than that.

The Break

In the course of re-drilling the holes through the 6×6 posts that will form the uprights of an outdoor chinup/gymnastic ring setup, the drill bit got bound up, and the drill spun, taking my right hand with it through about 135 degrees of clockwise rotation. Something in the hand did not approve of this course of  action, and went “pop.”

I dropped the drill, said, “Ow! Shit!” and went inside to get some ice and cold water on it to prevent swelling (I took off the titanium band on that ring  finger, just in case) and assess the damage.

At which point, shock kicked in, and I went from uncomfortable but functional to woozy to “Where is my alarm clock, if I’m just waking up from a restful night’s sleep, replete with prosaic dreams?” I apparently blacked out for ten or fifteen seconds, including a few seconds of seizure-like twitching. Fortunately, K caught me and lowered me to the floor, then called 911. Minor, if completely justified, freaking out ensued, as did treating me for shock and getting me an ice pack for the hand.

Ten or fifteen minutes later, a couple of EMTs arrived to give me the once-over. I was still on the floor, just in case, and had a couple towels over me because I was apparently cold and clammy, but otherwise awake, aware, and was offering to talk to the dispatcher.

Mocking the Stupid

Yes, this conversation has taken place at my house. The only reason it hasn't this morning is because my new keyboard is quieter than the old one.

Now, I could be coy, and play nice, and suggest that I understand the point of view espoused by Kent R. Rieske, B.Sc., and Bible Life Ministries.

But I won’t, because the man is simply a fucking idiot.

Actually, I don’t believe I’m stating that point strongly enough. However, I’m not going to resort to large fonts and blinking text and various other late-90’s hallmarks of Geocities’ personal pages. Just assume that there are flames, and blood, and skulls, and lots of animated .gifs clustered around the theme of “OH HELL NO.”

Case of the Mondays

Only got in a lunchtime workout yesterday, due to acute “meh” with a side of DUDE IT’S SHARK WEEK!

In other words, my body had had enough of my overtraining bullshit over the weekend and parked my ass. In a rare fit of good judgement, I grabbed a fistful of Triscuits, a pound of green grapes, and watched Mike Rowe freeze his balls off to tag a Greenland Shark.

Lunchtime:

Medicine Ball Slams: 3×25 (approx 1 min); 30 sec break between

Plank Holds: 1×30 sec each side, 1×30 sec inverted (ie: facing the ceiling)

Front Tuck Lever: 2×45 sec

FTL pullups: 2×10

Assorted stretching

Ow, my ass

This is not a direct reflection on the DOMS incurred from Tuesday’s squat session, but is instead a reaction to getting several CCs of antibiotics injected to begin the fight against some unwanted microbial interlopers.

Don’t have to take any time off, other than missing the last two evenings.

Overhead press will happen tomorrow, deadlifts Saturday, and bench as usual on Sunday.

Not sure if I’ll do anything special with the deads for my birthday, but we’ll see.

Today’s lunchtime workout was stolen straight from T-Nat.