For specific reasons that I’ll talk about in the future I have been working out with a personal trainer every day for the past week, and let me tell you, I was beyond surprised.
I wish I could say I was surprised at my newly-discovered strength. Or maybe at my new-found endurance. Even at my body’s capability for withstanding complicated physical activity.
Not at all. What took me by surprise is the amount of PAIN I was in. Oh jeezus, I was not prepared for that. Because really, after ten years of inactivity and a sedentary lifestyle, how bad could it be? Well, really really bad.
Now I don’t want to make you all scared and thinking that it’s a bad thing to start exercising. There are very specific reasons why my body reacted the way it did (the primary one being my attachment to the belief that ‘I don’t want or need exercise because I’m skinny regardless’, which is true, but the body obeyed and rebelled in return. Reiki ramblings. Ignore.)
What I’m trying to say is, this specific path and reactions were mine and mine alone. Most people don’t go through the stuff that happened to me because each person has their own perceptions that will shape their personal outcome. Yes, it’s a mind-body kind of thing, even if it sounds like weird new-agey stuff. It isn’t. It’s common sense.
To sum it up quite nicely, my body went into shock. The night of the third workout felt never-ending, and I literally half slept soaked in feverish sweat. That’s how bad it was.
Are you scared of exercise yet? Well stop, go back and read the previous paragraphs; this doesn’t have to happen to you.
Where was I? Feverish sweat, chills running down my spine and uncontrollable trembling. Sounds appealing, eh? I knew from the get-go that this was all temporary and that I was in no way sick, just in shock. Like, in the mother of all muddafuckin’ shocks. But I got past it and was up at 5:30 am the next day to train again, feeling much better and as if nothing had happened.
After a day of focusing on upper body exercises, including over 100 push-ups, chin-ups, pull-ups, weights, and several other torture techniques aimed mainly at the arms, something started to change. I began transforming in a spiraling mutation that concluded a few short hours after said exercises. My arms crumpled useless in front of me, my elbows bent and grappled in place, caught in an unshakeable and extremely painful muscle lock.
I couldn’t extend them or move them much at all without pangs of pain shooting through my entire body. The most I could do was wriggle my hands at the wrist up and down. I was a T-rex.
Note to self: Next time, accessorize tiny t-rex arms with Prada purse.
You know how they say that when you lose one physical ability you gain another? That’s bullshit. While my arms were useless I could not for the life of me figure out how to make a decent cup of coffee with my feet.
I eventually decided that a warm shower would really help, so I readied the water and commenced undressing. Or at least, I tried.
“Stephen! STEPHEN!” I called out desperately. “I need your help!” I felt like it took him forever to come upstairs. “I can’t take off my shirt, my arms are locked.” I admitted. The most evil smile I have ever seen in my life slowly occupied his face. A wave of sheer terror took over me and the thought of running away crossed my mind, but it was too late. I imagine this is what a mouse feels when he reckons the snake is about to swallow him whole. The sinister predator approached, “What baby? Can’t you put your arms up? Like this?” he said at the same time he violently pushed my elbows straight in upward position.
I howled.
And that’s not an exaggeration. I shrieked and squirmed and before I knew it tears were running down my face. Tears.
And you know what he did? He left me there trapped with the shirt halfway up my arms while I cried and screamed and even uncontrollably laughed in burning torment all at the same time. It was really something.
Ultimately, he took pity on me and freed my arms, which came flopping down like lifeless trunks causing a new wave of agony and even more dark mascara-stained tears. I’m telling you, it was quite the show.
I forgave him after a while, mostly because he’s really good at making it up to me (wait wut).
And that is the story of how husbando is not to be trusted, especially when in a vulnerable position. Come to think of it, our relationship works much like the law of the jungle: When hurt or defenseless, hide it damn it, or be left at the mercy of the heartless marauder. Still, my moment came when the house had to be cleaned, the sink had to be cleared and the family had to be fed, and my little t-rex arms were in no condition of accomplishing such monumental tasks. And so I made sure he had to take us all out to dinner. Repeatedly.
Rawr, bitch.
*Special thanks to Garyck for once again visually interpreting my head trips.
