I am one of the pilot participants in Fitocracy’s online coaching program, so if you want to get my brains-on advice to whip your ass into shape in the tender, loving, and inexorably enabling way you’d expect from Yours Truly, they’re offering my services at a bargain introductory rate, with the beatings to commence on February 17th.
If you or someone you know is terrified in a good way of giving this a try, feel free. I won’t be crueler or kinder to friends, frienemies, or total strangers.
 Which is to say, if you say you want to accomplish something, I will not let you give up. I am a right fucking bastard like that.
So, that was informative, if not entirely awesome. No burying the lede here: I go in for surgery on Monday, 9/9. My pre-op consult is Friday, 9/6.
Pictures of this week’s non-shit lifts and other stuff under the cut.
There’s this thing that happens when your friends know you “do fitness stuff”. It’s akin to the Pickup Truck Call, in that you’re top-of-mind when it comes to moving things, especially large, awkward, or heavy things. This is expected and, usually, fairly entertaining, because there’s usually food and stuff as thanks, plus… hey, free bonus exercise. :-)
There’s also the inevitable wallpapering of stuff that captures social media mindshare, which Oatmeal’s treatise on running did when he posted it recently.
I figure that headline has better SEO than “Sky blue, water wet.”
It seems the ubiquitous blowhard has finally stuck his dick into my meat-grinder by suggesting that exercise, and the folks who engage in it, are burdensome on the American health care system.
“All you exercise freaks, you’re the ones putting stress on the health care system.” – Rush Limbaugh, 2009
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.”
So, here we are:
Age: 38 (as of end of July)
Bench: 255 (+15)
Squat: 350 (+35)
OHP: 160 (+25)
Dead: 455 (+30)
Under ideal conditions (smart headspace, spotter, etc), I’m pretty sure those would be 265-275, 365, 165, and 465-475, but I’m stronger all the way around than I was when I started with Josh (12 weeks ago) by about 10%.
Measurements with the tape will be done tomorrow.
“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.