TheCrab’s Crawl

Theophrastus was a Greek philosopher and author of many works including my personal favorite ‘On Moral Characters’. He was a big time bullsh!tter and his name translated from ancient Greek literally means ‘Divine Expression’. Modern day American translation: Bullsh!tter.

Besides being a wonderful conversationalist and philospher, Theophrastus was a people watcher and put that hobby to use in the afore mentioned ‘On Moral Characters’. He observed, he named the players and put it all down on papyrus to share with his fellow Grecians. It is in the spirit of Theophrastus that I share this with you.

The Characters of Crab’s Gym

The Big Fella

I can’t start anywhere but here. He’s the biggest, baddest, strongest dude in the gym. He doesn’t show up much in my blog because he isn’t weird, loud, stupid or annoying. He is strong, always uses perfect form, quiet and literally a walking Encyclopedia of Bodybuilding. He was my size six years ago, now he tips the Toledo’s at a solid 250 and lifts like it. Great guy. Very quiet, but quick to offer real advice if you need it. Could be a pro if he didn’t love Snickers bars and fast food.

The Gymbo

Don’t want to spend much time on her except to say that she is in quite a few previous blog posts and for good reason. Total attention whore. She thinks the little something you should put behind your ears to attract men is her ankles. Sells the one thing she has. A great philosopher once told me ‘Women only have half the money, but they have all the pussy.’ She’s figured the later part of that quote out.

Franco

Named after Franco Columbo. Not like Franco in any way, other than he is to The Big Fella as Franco was to Arnold. ’Franco is a child’. He has three traits that set him apart, kind of like the Three Fates of Greek mythology. First and most annoying to The Big Fella is that he is always late, no matter what. Second is he doesn’t shut up. His yapper is always moving, but he knows better than to talk to The Big Fella during a workout unless it is to ask him how much weight to add. He starts up random coversations with anyone in ear shot. Good thing The Big Fella doesn’t need much in the way of spotting. Third is he is always trying to lift as much as The Big Fella. Can’t do it, few can, but it doesn’t stop him from trying and constantly hurting himself.

The Stupendous Yappy

Just like The Gymbo, she’s in the blog. Yap, yap, yap. She turned the corner a few weeks ago and hasn’t looked back. She’s still working her a$$ off and I am impressed. Another nod at the gym yesterday and I actually had to stare at her face for a few seconds just to make sure her jaw hadn’t been wired shut. She hasn’t said sh!t for weeks. She keeps this up and I might give her a new name.

Mr. Cheesecloth

Relative newcomer to the gym, but not to weight training. He’s a pretty good sized guy and lifts a fair amount of weight. Typical American lifter in that he trains the living sh!t out of everything above the waist and spends almost no time on the getaway sticks. His name comes from his gym attire. He wears a wife beater that is undoubtedly made from cheesecloth. It even has the faint odor of decade old Pont L’Eveque, or a$$ and cabbage. I can’t be sure. He’s also a talker when his jock sniffing, non athletic lifting partner shows up, otherwise he’s buried in his iPhone during the entire workout. Typically short strokes every movement. Don’t know why, just an observation.

The Whistler

Another star of a past bog post. This dick with ears can now be heard all over the f*cking gym whistling like an arriving train. He’s started listening to an iPod during his workout and can’t hear himself whistle and has increased his volume as a result. Bad things are bound to happen to this f*cktard should the current behavior curve continue. Stay tuned for more.

The Flatterer

The name was taken directly from Theophrastus’ writings. This knob has to have been alive when Theophrastus was taking notes for his text. If you happen to be lifting around him he will kiss your a$$. “Oh wow! That was an awesome squat! Your quads are awesome!” Thanks, a$$ kiss. “I’ve never seen anyone shoulder press that much weight! Wow! How did you get that strong!” No matter what exercise you are doing, how much weight you lift, how many reps or how sh!tty your form was it was the best most impressive thing this jag has ever seen in his entire life! Great. Go hump someone elses leg dick lip. I still haven’t figure out if he does it just to have something to talk about or because he hopes to get a like compliment in return. It’s hard to compliment a guy who lifts like a ten year old girl when he does lift and talks the rest of the time. He more than likely won’t be in any future blog posts. Tool.

Fantasy Football Guys (aka My Fan Club)

Two skinny fat mid thirties guys that live for Fantasy Football and kissing my a$$. Hey, I’m thrilled to have made the strides I have made in the past ten months, but I’m not worthy of a$$ kissing just yet. Don’t know really what it was that I did to garner their favor, but I wish I could undo it. My wife lifts more than they do on every movement but bench and she is closing fast. They look just like they did when I joined this gym in January of ‘09. Nothing’s changed. Nada. Every time I see them (usually Saturday AM only now) they say something stupid. “Realy leaning out and cutting it up man! You look great!” This comment six weeks into a 12 week bulk. I was bloated and puffy. The only part of me that was cut was my hair. “Do you always bench with your hands so close together? That’s not what our trainer showed us to do.” Duh. “It’s a narrow grip bench press. It works the tri’s and inner pecs a little.” “Cool! We’re going to add that to our next routine!” Great. Remeber unless you are Ledford, your close grip bench is a lot lower than your regular bench so that 45 lb bar is out, better bring a broom handle from home. A$$hat(s).

Superfly (aka The Wacko)

I haven’t written much about this piece of work because I’m waiting for my federal agent buddy to finish looking into his ability to purchase a firearm. I have no doubt that I could pummel him hand to hand, but even my crab like exoskeleton can’t stop bullets. He’s a peach. Think Les Nesman Meets Mr. T. He’s got muscle, no question, but he is also fat and one of the strangest people I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting. He lifts next to nothing from a weight standpoint and makes whistling pig and jailhouse romance noises like he’s setting a new world record with every lift. He also has a habit of claiming an area of the gym as his (ala Les Nesman). All that is missing is the tape on the floor. Our one and only confrontation came a week or two into my return to the gym. Superfly had laid all of his worldly possessions out on the floor and a bench like he was f*cking moving in then walked off to get use another machine. I grabbed the incline bench next to his shrine and he come a runnin’. His arms are flailing like he’s guiding an F-18 onto an aircraft carrier in rough weather all the while repeating ‘MY AREA! MY AREA’. OK. I’m new here and I don’t want to piss off the locals this early, but hell no. I tried to be nice. “I didn’t touch your stuff, man. I’m just using the incline bench.” He’s still flailing and talking “STAY AWAY FROM MY AREA!”. Alright, stay calm and reason with this wanker. ”GO F*CK YOURSELF!” Damn, that slipped. So much for being nice. He picked his toys up and stomped off like he was going to tell mommie. We’ve gotten along fine since then. He doesn’t look at me and I don’t tell him to go f*ck himself. He loves to screw with the newbies. I think he’s trying to make sure he doesn’t fall down any further in the pride, but please. I have gotten in the middle of a few of his attempts to bully the new folks and he predictibly shuts up. His aka name “The Wacko” was actually coined by one of the PT’s in the gym that thinks he is every bit the dipsh!t that I do.

Big Al

Looks just like Al_1961’s old picture of him with the Horshack fro, only he’s 6′1 or 2. He’s a quiet guy that is always working hard. He supersets everything. He’s also got some of the oddest superset combinations I’ve ever seen. Smith squats supersetted with Machine Bicep curls? Whaaa? I used to call him Smith Squat until he grew his hair out and the resemblance was too much to ignore. He’s done nothing to piss me off or earn the stink eye from anyone which sets him apart by itself. He’s also gone from a 135lb straining squat to pushing 275 for reps. He’s the perfect gym mate in that he also unloads the bar and cleans the bench after he’s done. If any of my other gym mates are reading this take a cue from Big Al and pick your sh!t up. Lazy pricks.

Mr. Sh!tty Form

He’s another that’s been in a blog post before. We had it out, he shut up and went away. I see him only if I lift on Sunday and I’m sure he’s fine with that too. Our last gym co habitation was prickly at best. He’s toned down the abuse of the machines, but his form is still horrible and he still acts like a d!ck. When last I saw Mr. Sh!tty Form he was screaming ‘F*CK YA! F*CK YA!” at the top of his lungs after completely butchering a set of dumbbell shoulder presses with 50 pound dumbbells. Range of motion was about 25% of the exercises inteded ROM and he threw the dumbbells at the top of the last rep. The sweet irony in it all is that one absolutely crushed his shaker bottle, absolutely drenching his left side and everything in his gym bag. “F*CK YA!” is right, moron.

Shan Part Duex  

Named after our own ShanBL, Shan Part Duex only slightly resembles her namesake, but I imagine they would be great workout partners. Since February or March of this year she’s been coming in almost every morning I’m in there. She lifts like she’s got something on mind and it ain’t burning off the Creme Brulee from the Commonwealth Club dinner the night before. She always uses great form, knows how to work her muscles and almost always lifts in the free weight section. The guys who have worked out with her for the any length of time protect her from the guys chasing tail in the gym like she’s our sister. Do not f*ck with her or you will pay. Any of us see someone talking to her and we make our way over to make sure everything is OK. She’ll either say everything is OK or that it’s not. She’s married and isn’t looking for conversation or flirtation. We help facilitate that as a show of our respect and admiration for her hard work. She’s earned the right to workout in peace and some of my best workouts have come after running a rutting buck back into the woods. I’ve always been that way in and out of the gym. I don’t like people f*cking with my people. It’s not allowed. She’s done a tremendous job with her body and no, you don’t get to stare at her a$$ either. If you don’t admire what she or her BodySpace namesake have done, you don’t get it and you should just go find some self aggrandizing BodySpace sh!thead to vote for, just not the raisin.

Big and Little Guido

Take any typical fat Italian character from a Hollywood mob movie, put them in ill fitting sweat pants and a wife beater and you have Big and Little Guido. This father and son team is only in the place on Sunday morning, I’m sure right after church. Big Guido is a big guy, with a bigger f*cking mouth. He struts around the gym like he is Lou Ferrigno, randomly handing out insults to anyone who is A) smaller than he is and B) looks easily intimidated. My favorite kind of person to f*ck with. I hate bullies. I, am an a$$hole, not a bully. I don’t pick on people for the sake of making myself feel better, I pick on people who deserve it. Big Guido picks on people he thinks can’t kick his a$$ to puff up his already puffed up self image and he basks in the resulting high fives and laughs that come from Little Guido. Old ladies, fat women and men and even a kid with Down’s Syndrome that comes in with his mom every once in a while. This guy is a piece of sh!t and I anxiously await the day that he steps on his d!ck and pisses in my pool. I’ll shove that Italian horn necklace so far up his a$$ he’ll need the dentist to get it out. Wonder if I can get a high five from Little Guido after that? I’m purposely going to the gym Sunday morning for shoulder rehab work in the hope that Joe Pesci will say something, anything about my 3lb dumbbells.

There are more. Sammy Sosa, Mr. Clean, The Lawyer, Bob Dylan, Karen Carpenter, Norm (from Cheers), Saberhagen, Mr. Radio, The Big Bitch and many, many more. If you didn’t make this first cut and get a description written about you don’t fret. You either don’t piss me off enough or you aren’t working hard enough with the weights. You decide which way you need to improve. Some of you are close. So very close, but just keep working.

I’ll be watching.

Hey, if these spamming douche bags can constantly post the same crap on here, why not me?

Oh, almost forgot: Vote early and vote often! It’s not about me (bullsh!t, it’s all about me, I just don’t want to come across as a self center a$$ hat) Vote for your favorite!

I did. I voted for Janthony. He’s got the a$$ of a…well, I’ll leave that alone for now.

Another leg day. Since it’s the only part of my workout that allows me to still lift real weight, it’s the only thing I can write about. I’m killing myself on these things as well and I hope I have something to show for it when it’s all over.

Didn’t eat nearly enough yesterday. Too much work and only opportunity to eat three meals plus my pre bed shake. Didn’t get to sleep until after 10 and as a result the alarm woke me for the first time in weeks. I had been turning the thing off prior to my scheduled up time, eating and starting the pharmaceutical assault on my body a little earlier than normal. I was killing it on workouts as a result of the added time to process the food and supps. Not this morning. No oatmeal, whey protein and peanut butter mixture, today was nothing but milk and whey protein chugged ten minutes before I walked into the gym.

Noticeably lower energy levels to start warmup and for the first few sets of deads. Everything clicked on the final set and it was on.

Ended up topping my Leg Press PR to a new high of 1010. The last rep was a pisser and any further increases will take time. I think I reached the limits of my current leg power. I’ll take it and I don’t think it’s bad for a guy that is under 195 and falling.

I’ve had to back off of the bulking diet recently. Decreased overall lifting due to the shoulder injury and I can feel myself getting soft. I don’t want to add a bunch of crap I’ll just need to burn off when I’m right and since I can’t do 75% of my upper body work I figured it was officially time to shut the bulk down.

I’ll reevaluate my routine this weekend and will more than likely cut the 12 week bulk lifting short. It really makes much more sense to go to a straight out cut right now, but I’ll mull it over and consult the tea leaves or something. That or I could just drop $10 on the spamming man’s secret book and look like…er…..nevermind. I wonder if he takes Diner’s Club.

Character study is on it’s way. Maybe not today, but most definitely on it’s way. I appologize to anyone on this site that works out at my gym, but you are more than likely on the list. My only hope is that you are too self absorbed and or stupid to realize what strange, quirky habbits you have and you’ll just be laughing along with the rest of us not knowing you are really laughing at yourself. Or, I’ll be floating down the James River with an exercise band wrapped around my neck. There is strength in numbers.

It could go either way.

I’m having a hard time typing. It’s been almost two hours since my leg workout ended and I’m still shaking like a leaf.

I"m stoked about the shoulder news yesterday afternoon and I used that energy to take it out on my legs this morning. Heavy squats that included a few extra sets and an even heavier than normal final set of 415 for 6. I almost didn’t finish this one. Last rep and my legs are shaking. I know they are about to give out as I try to rack the bar. That was close. Could have been a bad thing, but it wasn’t. Pushed through it and I am feeling it in the legs and gutes. Add to the squats a heavier than I’ve ever done set of stiff legged deads and the getaway sticks are hurtin’ for certain.

Forearm work, light cardio and I’m done.

Interesting character obsevations this morning. I’ll save those for later since this whole typing thing right now is giving me fits.

Everyone enjoy the day and use it like it’s your last.

The good news is that the tear is less than 50% through the supraspinatus muscle in my right shoulder which was the ‘Mendoza’ line for a no brainer surgery -vs- rehab. For now it’s rehab. (Another zinger from Dr. Feelgood) ‘Your age is such that a typical patient would typically require surgery, your physical condition and the strength of the surrounding muscles makes you a good candidate to continue reahb.’ I wonder if the ‘your physical condition’ part of the equation would have been dramatically different last fall before I stopped the 12oz curls and hit the gym. Something to think about.

The inflamation in the area is severe and there does appear to be some ‘junk’ (Doc’s word) in the joint, but since the joint is already responding well to the rehab exercises to this point, he recommends we stay the course for four more weeks and see what happens. I got 70/30 odds on a ’surgery free successful ending’ and thought I’m not much of a gambler, those are nothing to sneeze at. I’ll take them and move on.

I’m happy I can keep working upper body, even in the limited fashion I currently am. My task over the next four weeks and even in the following weeks and months will not be the work, but rather keeping myself from pushing too hard.

I need to find a way to reign myself in and take it one day, one exercise, one ice bag at a time. 

Crawl crab, crawl. 

Started my second week of ‘Cut and Paste’ workouts with the wounded wing. Upper body days have not been nearly as productive (duh), interesting or fun without the full compliment of movements. I’m doing what I can do and following Dr’s orders, for now. I know I shouldn’t push (no pun intended) too hard or do the outlawed movements or I risk starting from square one. I can tell the shoulder has come along, but I don’t know how much of the improvement is the rehab and shot and how much is the time off. I should find out today what the MRI results reveal and have a plan of action for better or worse. At least I’ll have a plan.

Today I spent most of the day back in the non free weight area of the gym, an area I try to avoid spending much time in due to the number of whack jobs and irritants present. This morning was no different. The free weight area is not without it’s interest, but most of those nut jobs are more my kind of nut job. Crazy in a good way.

We have a new character in the play. Not really new, I’ve seen this guy wandering around the gym for months now, but almost always at a distance. I wish I could have kept it that way.

Don’t know his name, used to think of him as skinny, shaved head, tube socks to the knees douche bag. Forever more he will be known as ‘The Whistler’. I thought about calling him ‘Whistlers Mother F*cker’, but this is a family show.

Constant f*cking non stop whistling and he’s not whistling to the music playing overhead. He’s got something else bumping around his head that he’s whistling to. I don’t recognize the tune and it doesn’t really even sound like a song. Kind of random whistling at a volume that should be reserved for car rides by youself, scared walks down dark back alleys pretending your not scared or windowless rubber rooms.

I was a little distracted and introspective this morning so it didn’t piss me off right from the start, but it didn’t take long. He’s walking around the machine area, looking for something. My initial guess was that he was looking for a clue, but that turned out to be incorrect. He finally came close enough for me to give him the stink eye without yelling something at him first. (I’m working on my non verbal communication skills. Momma can’t be mad about something she is unaware of, right?) I was in Stealth A$$hole mode. I was getting ready to start my last set of seated rows when he made eye contact from the other side of the machine. I tried to kill him ala George Clooney in that ’Men Staring at Goats’ movie, but it didn’t work. I’ll have to hone that skill. My face hurt I scowled at him so hard, but this dipsh!t just smiled. It was a crooked, kid on the bridge in ‘Deliverance’ kind of smile. This one will be tough to crack. It’s always harder to break the stupid ones. They don’t take gentle guidance well.

I’ve got more. There is actually a half dozen pages of character notes in the back of my workout book. Some of them interesting, some sad, some f*cking hilarious. I’ll share them, in time. They need to do something to set themselves apart first. Just because you suck doesn’t mean you get to be in the show. It’s kind of like the minor leagues. You have to do something to get to the big dance. You don’t just get a free ride.

Show me what you’ve got, kid.

I hope.

Leg day yesterday. Legs felt great after my cardio warmup and deadlifts, so I thought I’d try to push the envelope a little. I’ve been hovering around 900lbs on the Leg Press regularly, but really didn’t purposely try to push beyond. Why? Well, why the hell not?

Warmup sets and the first two working sets got me to 900, so I figured what the hell. Slapped to more 45’s and a pair of 5’s on the beast and my new grand total and PR of 1000 pounds was racked and ready. Felt it. I won’t lie, but it didn’t really feel 100 pounds heavier than 900. It was, because it had no choice, but I got my 1000 for 6 and was happy with it. The real pisser of the whole thing was returning the 14 plates that the machine doesn’t have storage for to their original homes. Got me thinking, why build a machine that states a capacity of 1620 lbs and only provide enough plate storage for 810? I guess the designer knew it would be used in my gym, meaning the self absorbed little a holes that used it would never unload the machine anyway. That has to be it.

Finished legs, feeling pumped and a little tired, but I still had all my shoulder rehab exercises to do. Off to the part of the gym that houses the pretty colored rubber weights. I didn’t really know where any of this stuff was, so I was a little lost at first. Cranked through the exercises like I was training for the O. It’s hard to look like The Oak when you are doing 3 lb front raises, but work with me. I finished what I could in the privacy of the ‘Girly Weight’ area as the Mrs. refers to it and had to venture into more familiar surroundings. The Physical Therapist gave me some very familiar exercises to do for this part. Lat Pulldowns, Seated Rows, One Armed Dumbbell rows, all intended to help strengthen the attachments and movement of the shoulder indirectly. All with a fraction of my normal working weight. Small fraction.  

I didn’t take long for the whispered comments to start. I’m a big boy and I’ve wounded myself, so I understand and accept why I am doing what I am doing. For the first few exercises I let it roll off my back, but they kept staring. Everyone was staring. Most of them whispering. (Except Yappy. She was lifting hard again. I changed my mind on the Crab tattoo thing. I want it on her ass, cause she know’s I own it;)

"Dude, he’s doing dumbbell rows with 6 lbs! WTF?"

"That guy can leg press a house, but is doing 80 lb lat pulldowns. Thats why I always talk about balance bro, balance."

This went on for most of the time I spent in the real gym working on the shoulder. Most of the normal crew had left the gym by then, but no one asked me what was up, they just all stared and or whispered. So I’ve decided to get a t shirt made. Something like " F*CK OFF! I’m Rehabbing my Shoulder" On the front and "I’m still stronger than you." On the back. Simple, yet effective.

Went home, showered and headed in for my MRI.

Spent 30 minutes lying in a tube that isn’t quite as wide as my shoulders and nothing is happening. Headphones filling my head with a horrible radio channel that wasn’t quite in tune and the occasional voice of the tech apologizing for the delay. Seems like the MRI itself was not working properly. I was on the edge of sleep a time or two only to be brought back by her voice or the crackling in my headphones. Bummer.

Rescheduled the MRI for this morning, so looks like I’ll still get a shot at that nap and hopefully have an scan for the doc to look at Monday.

Shoulder feels great. Cortisone shot, rehab, ice and no pressing movements have done wonders. If the tear isn’t more than 50% I think I’m going to roll the dice and stick with the rehab. I haven’t done any bench or military presses to test it and that more than likely won’t come for another three or four weeks, but if I can avoid the knife, I will. I may not be 59, but I’m not 20 anymore either.

It’s official. I am an educator.

Worked back, bi’s and tri’s this morning. (all movements Dr. tested, Dr. approved.) Had to leave out all pressing movements and skullcrushers, but did manage a sweet pump and left the gym feeling like I had gotten something done, even with the altered workout. If the MRI tomorrow morning tells the doc that rehab is all I need, I think my alterations will help me from loosing too much anywhere but in my chest and shoulders. Not really much I can do for those two areas at this point, but I’ll work what I can work.

It was almost halfway through the workout this morning before I noticed. Near silence save for the clank of weights, the piggy snorting of Superfly and the overhead music. Something was missing and it took me a while to figure it out.

Yappy was working out, with weights. Really.

I don’t know when she started lifting this morning, but once I saw her I couldn’t help but watch. She went from machine to machine, lifting weight and working muscles. Quietly. No talking, save for a ‘Hi’ to her usual victims. She hit chest, shoulders and back and didn’t say much of anything. She actually did a pretty damned good job of working something other than her jaw muscles and I was impressed.

We made eye contact once and she nodded. No dirty look from her or me. No eyes trailing away in shame or fear. It felt almost like an admission in unspoken form.

I was strangely proud of her. She who annoyed the living sh!t out of me these past ten months was working out like she meant it and like it should be.

She will still always be Yappy in my eyes, but if she keeps this up I expect her to start a profile on this site for the sole purpose of listing me as her inspiration. I pimp slapped the dizzy wench back into reality and I don’t mind saying I want her to give me credit. The nod was nice, but not enough. If she turns into a monster in the gym I want her to get a crab tattoo on her shoulder or something. I also expect her to post about the twelve mile walk to WalMart from her house. It’s the least she should do.

The other theory is she is in training. Training with the Gymbo. Training to reach the level of physical fitness that would be required for the two of them to dispose of me.

If I go missing tell the Richmond PD to look for a six foot tall brunette stripper with a rose tattoo on her ankle and a five foot tall squeak toy with blond hair. They will be traveling together in a dark blue Chrysler Minivan full of WalMart bags.

Today was leg day and it couldn’t have come at a better time.

Tore them up pretty well and mixed in some forearm and ab work as well. Shoulder felt great, especially since I didn’t lift anything with it other than to load and unload barbells.

Yappy was the only downer of the morning. Seated calf raises placed me 2 feet from the ear drum splitting wench and she was running her yap about parking at f*cking WalMart of all things. Who gives a sh!t? B!tch, you walk forty goddamned miles on the treadmill every day, you should walk to WalMart from your house. She was so involved in her conversation with the poor bastard that happened to be on the machine next to her she didn’t even see me walk up. He tried to mix in a set and she turned and looked directly at me, looking directly at her. One thousand yard stare from me and she picked her crap up and took her high pitched, squeaky ass off to another part of the gym. Mission accomplished. She runs for the hills every time she see’s my scowl and we will get along just fine. I’ll have to endure the occasional jab from the Mrs about how I should be embarrased for ‘intimidating’ Yappy, but I can live with that. It beats the hell out of spending a night in jail for sticking her head in the toilet. I think forced ’swirlies’ are now a felony in Virginia. It’s a kinder, gentler state since last November.

I visit the Physical Therapist tomorrow to get my evaluation, the basics of the exercise program and a handful of those Therabands I really do like to use. I’ll start the program immediately and hope the MRI on Friday brings good news.

Just another speed bump in my journey to looking like a sub six foot slab of carved granite. Yeah. That’s it.

In the immortal words of one of my co workers who recently passed away well before his time "Uh, oh. Time to back up and punt.." (Mike, you will be missed)

I started lifting In January with the idea that I could just get back into shape, loose the spare tires and just look like a better version of me. The lfting went well, maybe too well. Three months in and I started getting the jones to push heavier and heavier weights. I felt great and my lifts kept going up quickly, maybe too quickly. It was brought to my attention by Mrs. Crab more than a few times that ‘Maybe you should just take it easy. You are still strong and getting stronger, but you still have a 40+ year old body that you beat the living crap out of.’ She was right, of course, but I felt good and I wanted to do more than just look good, I wanted to be at least as strong as I looked. I wanted to move mountains. Why be satisfied with looking better on the beach? Given enough time and effort, why couldn’t I do as much or more in the gym as I did in my mid twenties? So I kept pushing, harder, faster, heavier. I did pick up a lot on my lifts, I also picked up a torn pectoral muscle in June and now this shoulder pain and weakness that started about a month ago. Too hard, too fast, too heavy?

I heard the words today I absolutely did not want to hear today, delivered (fittingly enough) by someone who is as big a smart ass as I am.

"The bad news is you have a torn rotator cuff, but the good news is your deltoids are really strong!"

Great. Thanks for that doc.

The down side is that it is official…I will never pitch professionally. (More smart ass. Karma again.) That and no pressing movements. At all. Nada. Bench, military, dumbbell, barbell, Smith Rack. Nothing.

The up side is that I can still do some upper body and leg work. Curls, tricep pushdowns, lat pulldowns and rows, forearms are wide open and the cardio I so adore is looking better all the time.

Friday I’ve got an MRI to tell me if the tear is partial or complete. Usually the manual manipulation test will tell the doc all they need to know abou that question, but, like Doctor Smartass said, I have really strong deltoids and the results are not conclusive. Complete tear and I’m headed for surgery in the next week. Partial depth tear and I’m in for 4 to 6 weeks of rehab, then another doctor visit. If it improves I’m back at it, if not it’s under the knife for The Crab.

Either way, I am looking at a minimum of four weeks with a very limited, balance disrupting, altered lifting schedule and a possible 6 month delay should the tear be partial and the rehab do nothing for it. Not really what a 44 year old used to be fat guy wants to hear.

Regarless of how much of the injury is my ‘fault’ for pushing too hard, the dissapointment is palpable. Let this be a cautionary tale. Push your limits. Expand your strength. Know when enough is enough.

If I have a flaw in the gym, it may be that I have no governor. I don’t know when to say when.

I’ll update when I know more, but for now it’s ice, rehab and wait for Friday.

Saturday morning was cardio day for me, the cardio whore. Nothing fancy, just 580 calories gone in an hour. Tried to keep my heart rate low and the RPM’s down on the recumbent bike for more of a ’steady state’, fat burning kind of cardio. Trying to keep from burning my leg muscles out too much on what is supposed to be an off day in my lifting schedule. I’m not comfortable with the bulking process and the last thing I want to do is have to look real hard to find my abs. I had lost them for a decade and a half and I would like to keep them on a short leash from here on out, so I’m bringing cardio back.

This morning was another Monday, just like any other Monday, except for the fact that it was the first day I would be back in the gym with The Stupendous Yappy since my Superpump induced meltdown directed at the mouth of the South last Friday. I parked the truck and was warned by Mrs. Crab to avoid a repeat of Friday’s events.

"As long as she keeps her squeeky ass away from me, I’ll be fine. I promise."

 I had no intention of yelling at her or anybody this morning. I was tired and frankly a little concerned about the continued pain and limited range of motion in my right shoulder. It’s something I’ve been fighting for almost a month now and no matter what I’ve done, I can’t seem to shake it and it is effecting my lifts. With that on my mind I was a little too preoccupied to even give the blabbing beotch a second thought, until we walked in the gym.

She was, just as every other morning I see her in the gym, flailing and yapping, flailing and yapping. She didn’t see me come in and I didn’t make a point of bringing my arrival to her attention. I figured why not let a yapping dog lie, right? I’m sure it took her most of the weekend and several doses of Xanax mixed with cheap red wine to calm her frazzled nerves after my verbal assault on her delicate senses. Dipsh!t. (I was reminded frequently about just how huge an a$$hole I can be when the mood strikes me.)

While she yapped and flailed, we headed up stairs to the house of pain. Everything went well for the BB bench until the last set. A little tweak in the right shoulder on the last rep. Nah. It’s nothing, just a little tight.

Three exercises later and the sh!t hit the fan. Military press had been a solid movement for me. I was easily churning out sets of 10 at 195 before the tweak. Now I’m pressing to get 135 and I had dropped as low as 115 just to give the shoulder a break. Today I started back at 135 and it felt OK for the first set. Second set, first rep and it was all over. Felt like someone pushed an entire syringe full of hot liquid in the joint and all my strength was gone on the right side. I managed to rack the weight, but I was most definitely done with this movement for the day. Sh!t. This can’t be good.

Gutted my way through close grip bench and BB bicep curls to finish the workout, all the while thinking I was in trouble. Only last week I decided to give in and set up an appointment with the doc to have him look at the thing this morning. I had even thought about completely shutting down upper body lifting until after the visit, but what if it was only a strain? Why loose any time for something I’ll just get a few days of no heavy lifting and a list of rehab exercises for, right? Right? Uh-oh.

I’ll know more this afternoon, but right now The Crab is down a claw and not happy about it. Don’t know if Karma is a real thing or if The Stupendous Yappy paid a Louisiana Voodoo queen to throw dem bones and curse me. I wouldn’t put it past the skinny little wench.

Can’t a guy even tell someone to shut the f*ck up in this PC society without risking injury by way of curse?

Next time, I’m throwing something at her.