Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Just when I was sure my right arm was going to fall off, or at least break apart at the joints, I noticed my wrist.
Little tiny thing, it is. I even measured it: two inches and 1/8 across. I'm asking these poor little couple of inches to support heavy weight, and in return, I hear complaining.
That's why I'm buying these wristwraps. No, it doesn't bother me that they're called "Convict Pro." The other option was "The Strangulator."
Another option would be to stop trying to lift heavy stuff. I've considered cashing it all in, as I do about every 3 weeks when I'm sure something is going to go snap. In fact, ever since I entered my 4oth year this past November, lots of parts have indeed rebelled. I periodically come home from the weight room and offer my last will and testament to my family: If anything happens, I say, know I was doing what I love.
Then the violins cease their soaring, I grab an ice pack, and settle in until I can get back to the gym.