Mobility (or lack thereof)

I can’t move my arms. I try. In my mind, I can hear the wheels chugging as the thought, “move right arm towards door handle” careens off the vast emptiness therein. But no matter what I do, I can’t move my arms. They’re stuck, right where they are, at my side. Useless. The reason I can’t move my arms is because Nate and I have foolishly decided to begin a new weightlifting regimen early in the morning, way before the sun even thinks about beginning its daily trek across the Ohio sky.

Now, I’ve lifted weights before. For a while I was even serious about it. So I should have known better than to overdo it the first day. No matter how strong you think you are, no matter how easily the weights fly around the room, you WILL be sore the next day. Going full bore means you will likely have to roll out of bed the following morning because you won’t be able to push yourself up. And even then you have to hope that you land on your feet, because, if you don’t, all you have done is transfer the problem to a different vantage point. And the stairs present a very difficult problem from that level.

Just ask Ben!

I knew not to overdo it, but I did it anyway. Why, you ask? Because Nate is really strong and I didn’t want to look like a wuss. I thought that if I at least kept a moderately close pace, I woulnd't look bad. I tried not to appear weak and soft. Even though I am a wuss. A very large, very flabby wuss who now has to strain himself beyond belief in order to keep his hands on the keyboard long enough to type this message to you. I am such an idiot.

Tomorrow we do legs. I’m screwed.

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As of this date, The Sasquatch has lost 19 pounds in his never-ending quest to achieve sexy thinness. Everybody congratulate him. If you don’t, he might flail his jelly arms in your general direction and then you’ll really be in trouble.

The numbers:
Extreme Fatness (8-31-01): 358
The skinny (3-15-04): 231
Big Largeness (12-15-05): 287
As I sit (1-31-06): 268
Goal: 210-220