Yes, I DO even lift, bro!

I am such a wuss.

Back in 9^th grade, when our phys ed class mandated it, I used the weight room at the high school and lifted some weights. I only tracked what I needed to and only did it for as long as the syllabus demanded, otherwise I’d be sacrificing my whole nerd-clique stance that dumb jocks who spend all their time in a gym were just assholes and jerks.

I quickly gave it up for all that, despite seeing noticeable results in a few weeks. Maybe if I had stuck with it in the 15 years since then, I wouldn’t be feeling like I am today.

I’ve nicknamed myself C-3PO. Not because I’m particularly skinny, prissy, or fluent in over 6 million forms of communications, no, but rather because for the last 38 hours I’ve been brokenly shuffling around with my arms crooked and held out away from my body and my back held erect. It’s dawned on me:

Jocks don’t walk around like this to arrogantly show off their barrel chests and bulging biceps. No, they walk around like this because when you lift weights to get big, your muscles are sore, tight, and there’s no way you can stretch them to walk normally!

So my buddy Molimo has been on a huge fitness kick the last year or two, and it shows: he’s dropped 120 pounds and nearly doubled his bench press weight to get it back to what it was in high school. He’s been a big encouragement for my running, weight loss, and now, weight lifting. He finally convinced me to spend the whopping $8 for Snap Fitness’s free 30 day trial (the 8 bones were for shipping me the door card) and I met him at the gym. This was very new to me, and I was very intimidated. We hit the bikes for warm-up and right away Molimo was complimenting me on my muscular legs, so that helped alleviate some of my insecurities right there. Walking into the free weight room, I saw a couple of women working out, probably pushing more weight than my pipe-cleaner arms could push, but that didn’t deter me, either.

“Oh man, even that little dude’s a beast!” I said of someone barely out of high school.

“Who, him? Nah, man, he’s little! You’ll be much bigger than him!” was my coach’s reply.

Molimo started me with bench pressing, and we found my max at 145 lbs. That right there was unexpected! I truly felt I would be struggling with just the bar! After a little formulaic wizardy with his smartphone, Molimo calculated I should do 3 sets of 10 reps at 90 pounds. I figured, pshh! Easy mode! I just did 145!

I only completed 5 on my last set before my arms gave out, but Molimo pushed me to crank out 3 more, then 2 more, then to do the “burnout” which involved a non-stop series of presses, half presses, and slow presses. My arms were cold wet noodles, and this was only the beginning.

Things I’ve learned about myself: I can’t do inclined sit-ups; I can’t do pushups (hell, I couldn’t even push myself up from the floor, had to have Molimo pull me up by my arms!); my legs are much stronger than I thought, and I could do a full set at 220lbs on the hip abductor machine, though that machine is dangerous – one moment of relaxation and the machine could close my legs hard on my package, and I’m pretty sure swollen testicles would put me out of the gym for a while!

Two hours went by quickly, and I felt we should have done more, but I guess doing arms, core, and legs in one day was probably overkill already. I went home and ate anything I could find with “protein” listed on it, and relaxed.

The ache started setting in around bedtime, and by the time I was asleep, it was a full-blown pain. I’d wake up multiple times, unable to rotate my body or reach my hands over my head to adjust my pillow. When I had to get up and piss (I love drinking a gallon+ of water a day, except for pissing so often), it felt like when I had my kidney surgery and I had to grunt and groan just to sit up in bed.

Of course the dog needed to go outside too.

I could walk with my arms held against my belly in imaginary slings, but reaching down to, um… aim at the toilet… and then to flush, and then further to open the outside door for Juno… Each was an exercise in controlled breathing, grunting, and wincing in pain. Work today was the same way: slow ambling down hallways, trying to project a calm demeanor but internally catalogue each tight and sore tendon and muscle fiber. When privacy was afforded, I’d groan and grunt and pant just to do simple things like push the bathroom door open, or stand out of my desk chair.

Is it always going to be like this? Why would people perpetually cripple themselves like this? All the nagging doubts and questions plagued me today, but I kept them at bay with motivating thoughts. My end goal isn’t to be cartoonish like Arnold or Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson, but more like fit and strong, like Daniel Craig’s James Bond, or big and imposing like Tom Hardy’s Bane. I’m trusting everybody who says that after a couple of days, this pain will go away, and the next time I hit the same weights I’ll be a bit better prepared.

In the meantime, I’m shoveling down as much food as I can get my hands on, and napping every spare moment I get (like today’s lunch break, when I went home and slept for 45 minutes). My body is calling in the emergency reserves to repair itself, and complaining to me all the while. That’s ok, though. Little does it know that in a couple of days, I’ll be back for more!