This title easily could have been replaced by a picture of Arnold Schwarzenegger in a rastafari hat yelling (it will make sense later).
So my lovely, beautiful and gracious wife decided to watch our neighbors kids after school for $100 a week. She’ll have them for about 2.5 hours and there are two boys (6 and 7) and a girl (9). The kids seems a bit hyper but I bet they’re okay as kids generally go. This meaning in the hour they were at my house last night with their parents they didn’t break anything, put a hole in my sheetrock, or teach my kids any foul words (they didn’t already know).
We don’t actually know these neighbors well. They moved down from Michigan and the dad is a lawyer and the mom works somewhere probably making more money than I do. I get to talking to the guy and find out he was in the Navy like I was and he went to college on a wresting scholarship, which doesn’t surprise me because his neck looks like a tree trunk. The funny thing is that the guy is huge and muscly but talks like Mike Tyson. Super nice guy though.
Anyway, he invites me to go work out with him at 5 AM (yes, I do have a death wish) because he finds out we got to the same gym. “Go” being used loosely as I have not set foot in any gym since before my wreck in September. Now, mind you, I had no illusions about what this event was going to be like but I went anyway.
We show up at the gym and I’m wondering how we are going to do the same workouts when I know he will be able to put up much, much more weight than me. We first do leg presses (it’s leg day for him), which start out fine at 225 lbs on an incline. Then he puts on 450 and I try and almost squish myself. Luckily there is a safety lever which prevented me from becoming a pancake. Still, he had to get on the machine and push the weight back up which was frankly embarrassing. I lowered it down to 315 and stayed there but Jamaican Hercules (did I mention he’s Jamaican?) is working out with 720 lbs. Not maxing. The guy is doing reps of 15.
To make a long, embarrassing, and pathetic story short I hung in there in awe every time he would lift some huge weight until the last machine. Right before the last machine I started feeling light headed and nauseous so I sat the last exercise out. He looked concerned, but I felt in control. Until the car ride home.
About halfway to the house I had to have him pull over and I spilled what little contents were in my stomach on the side of the road. His comment to me was that I should have eaten some protein. I’m not sure that lifting weights that I was uncomfortable with for an hour without a break didn’t play a part but protein…sure….why not. When I got home I tried to climb the stairs to my bedroom to shower. I say tried even though I succeeded because it was less of what we conventionally call “climbing stairs” and more reminiscent of spider man on mushrooms and muscle relaxers trying to climb stairs. I’m pretty sure I invented a new sport in doing so.
All this being said, I’m still planning to go work out four more times the next week. So I will update everyone if I am still alive…and can lift my arms as high as the keyboard.