Atrophy… My Arch-Nemesis…

Posted: August 24, 2011 in Self-Deprecation
Tags: , , , , , ,

On a positive note, my cast has finally had its proverbial cherry popped.  No, my mother didn’t do it, my girlfriend did.  I now have a heart with our initials, her name, a few doodles, and a shamrock on it.  I know I’m 100% Italian, so the Irish bit kind of doesn’t make much sense– but at least my mom didn’t do it!  Now stop laughing!  Yes, I know I’m saying it in vain, but I need to hold on to whatever prayer of self-respect I have left.

All of this false bravado, and innocuous exoskeletal tattooing aside– I’m facing a major issue.  This level of disturbance is on par with my growing ass and gut.  I’m talking about atrophy.  Gaining poundage isn’t fun, but shrinking muscles are no laughing matter.  Shit, throw some backne (yes, I just hybridized back and acne for those of you not swift enough to catch it) in the mix, and I’m sure I’ll have to keep this fetid cast after it’s removed– just to remember what it was like to have a girlfriend.

She would tell me I’m overreacting.  I am not so positive.  I look at the facts.

The arm-- pre injury

A blast from the past... before I lost a fight with a refrigerator...

I could preacher-curl my own body weight at one time.  Now I look at how far atrophy has kicked my widening ass over the past month or so.

The gap...

My arm has shrunk so much, I can damn near fist my cast-- with the arm in it!!

It’s shameful!  At least when Jill inevitably goes full zombie on me, she’ll be at less than 50% power.  How can I look on the bright side of things, when the added inches on my waistline can be accounted for by lost inches from my arm?!

Oh yeah, best part?  Rosie’s still looking pretty damn good, so compared to this withered limb,  I’m gonna look like all I ever do is…  oh cruel irony.

Screw it, I’m going back to writing up my kamakaze diet– for when I finally get this damn cast removed, and I can finally work out again.  It’ll be a glorious day.

Unplug.

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Comments
  1. SB says:

    So… no shamrock for the Sicilian. Italian sausage flanked by a couple of green olives?

  2. […] and I’m a perpetually hurting unit (one tasked with constantly stretching and exercising joints that have been par-frozen by atrophy).  This means one thing:  yours truly is shitfaced on Norco more often now than I was when the […]

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