Month: August 2019

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202 Squats A Day!

Okay, so, my left arm is out of commission effectively putting my entire upper body out of commission when it comes to weight work, unless I’m going for the Belial from Basket Case look, one side bulked up and the other scrawny. Heh. Sure would make people cross to the other side of the sidewalk. People hate freaks. Hmm. Perhaps I should! “My name ain’t Quasimodo, but I still got a hunch ….” Nah. That’s extreme body modification, and I’m not into that. 

So, anyway, since my upper body is temporarily out of the muscle growth game, I suppose that’s a good excuse to do a prolonged leg day. A leg month. Heh. Hence, the 202 Squats A Day Challenge! Ahem. Anyway. 

So, I decided to start now. I decided at around 5:45 pm and did my first set. I can currently do about 20, no weights, just yet, simple body-weight squats, some, so-far, aren’t as deep as they need to be, yet. They will improve. Learning from past mistakes, even when 202 feels easy, I’m going to stick to it. There are other exercises I can do, if I have energy that needs burned at the end of the day. When they get too easy, I’ll add on the weight, but stick to the 202 per day total count. 

I did two more sets of 20 within the hour and got up to 60. I have to fit another 142 into the next three and a half hours or so until I go to bed. 

By 6:40, I have 100 squats in the bag. I also threw on some Hollywood Undead, Party by Myself, and danced like a fucking idiot lunatic. 

I got my 202 in by 9:00. The last two sets were ten each. As I lay down to sleep, my thighs are feeling a little sore. So far I feel nothing in my glutes. I hope that changes. I really want to build my glutes for one really simple reason: I just want my fucking pants to fit right.  

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So, I Have Tennis Elbow …

I don’t play tennis. I was about to declare that I know nothing about tennis, but then I stopped myself, because I’ve read Infinite Jest, by David Foster Wallace, and if I still knew nothing about tennis after reading Infinite Jest, I’d be an idiot. 

I acquired my case of tennis elbow by way of gripping my steering wheel too tightly while fighting a fit of intense road rage  — multiple days in a row. Oh, fuck it, let’s be honest — every damned day for multiple weeks in a row. The entire fucking city is under construction, it does no good to avoid the main route, because all the alternate routes are fucked up, too. It happened in my left arm, because that’s the arm gripping the steering wheel while my right hand shifts gears. I drive a manual, because that’s just one more thing I can have control of when I’m behind the wheel. But let’s move past that, because manual transmissions and my control issues are two things that could each have a series of blogs unto themselves. 

So, the long and the short of it is, I let a bunch of idiots get me so very mad that I actually physically injured myself. It fucked up my push up challenge. It’s fucking up my fitness goals in general, and that’s just the one symptom, the tennis elbow. There are more serious symptoms. My blood pressure, my general heart health, and my state of mind, are three very important examples. These are all very good reasons to stop having road rage. These are good reasons to just relax when I drive, to not let stupid people get under my skin, because, fuck ,everyone knows, they are EVERYFUCKINGWHERE. So just relax, Guy, take it easy. 

Sounds so easy. I know the anger hurts nobody but myself, and it does hurt me, obviously. Yet I still get triggered. I know, I know. I hate that fucking word, too. But it’s accurate, and valid. I have triggers, and when they are pulled, it is extremely difficult to stop the bullet from coming out of the gun. I literally have milliseconds to realize what’s about to happen and stop it when I get triggered. I usually fail. And once the bullet is out of the gun, it has to continue it’s trajectory until it loses steam and falls to earth — or collides with something, causing catastrophic damage. 

So, I am actually something it is very dangerous to be right now. I am an angry white male with mental health issues who owns guns. Don’t worry, I’m not going to go shooting some place up. That would run directly counter to my two main life goals, freedom and longevity. I have no intention of going to jail or dying, and those are the only two outcomes of going on a shooting spree. Personally, I think that’s one too many options. I think all mass shooters should be killed on sight, it is the sole instance where I support unnecessary force by law enforcement. Take the shooter out, they don’t deserve to see their names in the paper. 

Anyway, I don’t want to be angry. I am smart enough to know the nonsense of it. I want to be chill and easy going. I want to go with the flow, take life as it comes. I lived that way for a while. It was bliss. I don’t know what happened. I lost it somehow. But I’m trying to get back there. I’m trying to remember how to let go. Let go of my perceived control. Let go of trying to predict what’s next and just wait and see. Let go of expectations. Let go of worry. Let go of regret. Let go of the fucking steering wheel.

So I’ve been using a heating pad and doing some recommended stretches to try to heal up these tendons faster but it doesn’t seem to be working. I’m probably going to have to get either a wrist brace or an elbow brace. With tennis elbow, the problem starts with the wrist muscles and then damages the tendons in the elbow, so the treatment lies in the wrist. The elbow brace is weighted and is worn on the forearm. It takes the pressure off the tendons when the muscles are used. 

For now, I’ve been trying to avoid using my left hand and arm. As a right-handed person, I sure use my left hand for a lot of things I need to avoid. Including: opening doors, pulling my car door shut, picking up my backpack, picking up bags of groceries, picking up anything, really, pulling up my jeans, taking off my jeans, putting sheets on the bed, and just about everything else. When I forget, and I grab a grip of something with my left hand, my elbow screams. 

I just want this to heal so I can get back to my push ups. It will heal faster if I can stop clenching all my muscles every time I’m triggered. The anger is a part of my anxiety. I need to get a handle on my anxiety.  I really don’t want to take pills … 

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202 Push-Ups Update

I finished out day 6 with 520 total reps.  Ten of them were with my forty-pound backpack on. 

Tuesday, August 13th, Day 7: I did one set of 50 when I woke up, and a set of 55 before I left for work.  I snuck in two sets before first break without my pack, and two sets with the pack on each break and lunch. I averaged 35 per set with the pack on, without it I did sets of 45. At the end of the work day I had 420.  

I did several sets at home and finished the day with 550.  None of those were with the forty-pound pack. 

Wednesday, August 14th, Day 8: I did two sets of 50 and a set of 45 before leaving for work.  I did two sets before break of 45 each. On break, with the twenty-pound pack, I did two sets of 40, bringing me to 310 at the end of first break.  I did two sets of 50 on lunch with the twenty-pound pack, and on last break I struggled to bring my workday-end total to 505. I was trying to hit 520, but  I collapsed onto my chest at 15 reps on the last set with the pack on.  That was at 3:45pm. At 6:20pm I did a set of 30. I was going for 50, but couldn’t make it.  At 8:00 I did my final set of the night. I managed to add 25 pushups, bringing my daily total to 560. The forty-pound pack was not used on the eighth day. 

My chest, upper arms, and back were all very sore. They were mildly sore when I woke up and became increasingly sore throughout the day with each new set of reps. I am curious to see if this trend of steadily increasing my daily output can continue.

By doing an extra set of reps before I left for work, I was hoping to increase my maximum output for the day. But it seems that I’m only going to get a certain number of reps in for a given day whether I get them out of the way early or squeeze them in before bed. I just tire out more quickly and am able to do less and less reps per set as the day wears on when I do more reps early in the day. 

Thursday, August 15th, Day 9:  I had to pull back on the reigns on the ninth day. My last set of the night on day 8 was cut short by a sharp pain in my lower left abdomen during the pushups. I was hoping that would resolve itself overnight, but it did not. The sharp pain persisted into my morning set. Also, my upper arms and chest were still pretty sore. I limited sets to 30 on day 9, didn’t use either backpack, skipped extra sets. I finished the work day with 270 reps.  I did a set of 30 at 7:00pm, and another at 8:30pm, bringing the grand total for day 9 to 330 reps. The first day I didn’t surpass the day before, and I fell short quite a bit. But, I’m still over 202, so I consider that a win. 

Friday, August 16th, Day 10: I did a set of 40 in the morning. It was exhausting and aggravated the tennis elbow I’ve had in my left elbow since before I started the challenge. Previously, the push ups didn’t seem to bother it, but on the tenth day, it became bothered. I didn’t use the pack this day, did short sets, and finished the day with 303. 

Saturday, August 17th, Day 11: The eleventh day was a fail.  I didn’t hit 202. I only got in 125 pushups. 

Sunday, August 18th, Day 12, the last day: I did more than on day 11, but I didn’t get to 202. I finished the day with 156.

So, it’s time to hang it up. My left elbow is killing me, my muscles are fatigued and won’t perform. It’s time to rest up, heal up, and try again. I went too hard, too fast this time. Next time I’ll start slower. I’ll stick to the plan instead of trying to push it every day, save my energy so I’ll have the stamina to go the full month. 

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202 Pushups A Day

One of my favorite movies is The Pirate Movie, made in 1982, starring Christopher Atkins and Kristy McNichol. Ted Hamilton played The Pirate King.  I recently learned he was 45 when he played that role, the same age I am now. There is a scene in that movie where he’s flexing his muscles for Mabel, Kristy McNichol’s character, and he says, “202 … push-ups a day.”

Wednesday, August 7th, I woke up and decided I was going to do 202 push-ups a day for a month.
On that first day,  I did a set of 30 when I first woke up, and another set of 27 just before leaving for work. On first break, I used the private phone room and, wearing my backpack, which weighs about twenty pounds, I did a set of 20 when I went on break. Then I walked two laps around the parking lot, and did another set of 20 before going back to work.
I did the same thing on lunch and last break. When I came home, I did a final set of 35 without the backpack, finishing out at 212. I’d surpassed my goal on the first day.  I was extremely sore, and expected to struggle to get to 202 the next day.

Thursday, August 8th, day two:  I did a single set of 40 before leaving for work. My sets on breaks and lunch varied from 25 to 35. My final set before bed on Thursday brought me to 247. My entire chest felt like one huge bruise. I doubted I’d be able to match that number the next day. I was worried I’d barely be able to do ten my first set of the morning.

Friday, August 9th, day three: I didn’t feel sore in the morning. I did a set of 40 when I woke up and another set of 40 before work. Unbelievably, there was an unmistakable change in the general shape of my shoulders and chest. I stared at myself in the mirror, running my hands along my chest, and decided I wasn’t imagining it. It was only day three, but I was already seeing results.
I continued my pattern of two sets per break in the private rooms, bookending laps around the parking lot. I had 275 total reps in by the time I left work. By 6:00pm I had 310 reps in and I thought it would be silly not to go for double or nothing. I got a total of 404 before bed.

Saturday, August 10th, day four: Unbound by the workday schedule, I was able to just drop and do as many push-ups as I could every hour or two. I didn’t wear the backpack for any of the reps on this day. I still struggled to match Friday’s numbers, and forced out 405 before bed.

Sunday August 11th, day five: Skipped the backpack again for the day. Able to do sets of 45 more regularly. Did one set of 55 after waiting four hours between sets. My last set before bed brought me to 417 reps total for the day.

Monday, August 12th, day six, today: My polo shirt fits differently than it did before. Fabric is laying against skin that’s not used to having fabric against it. My clothes feel weird on me. This seems insanely impossible on day six, I really didn’t expect to notice any results until later in the month. I managed a set of 50 when I woke up, and another set of 50 before leaving for work. I detoured to the private room on my way to the restroom at around 9:00am and did a set of 45. Two sets on break, with the pack on, a set of 40 and one of 35. So I was at 220 by the end of first break.  I took some time off today and left before lunch.  
By 5:30pm I had 370 reps in. I managed a full set of 50 at 6:00pm. At this point, I was at 420. It would be silly not to go for 505.

I was expecting this to be a 202 push-up a day challenge. I thought it would be difficult to do 202 push-ups every day for a month, and I thought, at least for the first week, it would be hard to hit the number daily. I’m surprised by these results, but I’m going to roll with it. The new challenge is to continue as I have been, seeing how many push-ups I can do each day. The new expiration date on the challenge is whenever it stops being effective.

As of 7:30pm, I have my 505 reps in for the day.  I’ll do more before I go to bed. I also loaded a backpack up with 40lbs of weights wrapped in a bath towel. I’m going to strap that on and see if I can do a set of ten. I’ve been doing squats with it. The funny thing is, even with the backpack on, I still weigh less than I did a little over a year ago.

Some notes: I have been eating a lot. I’m constantly hungry. I don’t know how many calories I’ve been eating a day because I haven’t been counting. The only thing I really try to do is avoid an excess of carb calories, especially simple carbs, especially processed sugars. But I haven’t been doing a good job of avoiding those the past few days. I’m not taking any protein supplements; I’m not taking any performance enhancers.
I have been eating a lot of meat, nuts and beans. My diet has been high protein, high potassium, high iron, b vitamins, and vitamin C.

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We Should Grieve and Move On

I think people should shut the fuck up about guns right now. I’m for sensible gun reform, sure, of course. It’s something we, as a country need to do. But it’s not going to happen with Donald Trump in the White House and a Senate full of Republicans

It’s not going to happen unless there is a Democrat in the White House and they have the majority in both the Senate and the House. And, quite frankly, talking about gun reform leading up the the election is not going to help make that happen. It is a wedge issue and it is not an issue that is going to turn out favorably for the Democrats in the general election. 

These mass shootings are horrific. The motivations are horrific. The senseless loss of life is heartbreaking and the ease with which we can all obtain weapons capable of killing dozens of people in mere seconds is pretty scary. 

But the people you’re trying to convince already agree with you, and the ones who don’t aren’t going to. The Democrats shouldn’t run on this issue, and despite the horrible recent tragedies, it’s not what people should be talking about right now. The way to honor the deceased and to prevent future tragedies is to get new people elected by any means necessary. And that means not making guns an issue during the election.

Democrats should get themselves elected on other issues, and then do the gun stuff once they are in. It won’t be easy for them even then, because there will be a whole lot of debate within their own party about how far they really want to go. But that will be the time for all this gun debate. When we have a government who will actually try to do something about it. 

Ah, that would be nice. Lol. If we lived in that kind of reasonable world, where people really understood how to politic. But, nope. Not here, not now. This is Earth, 2019, Kiddies, and we are so very fucked. So, you might as well just sit back, enjoy the ride, and hope we don’t all blow up before this shitstorm is over. 

I just keep watching Trump and his army of alt-right trolls set political traps for the left and  then I just watch the left, pretty much collectively, wander right into the traps, and not seem to even know they’re getting caught. Trump wants this election to be about race and guns. And he’s getting his wish. And the Left, pretty much collectively, is going to lose so fucking hard. 

So I’m not getting emotionally invested. I’m going to do my part and I’m going to vote in the Primary and I’m going to vote in the General, and both votes are going to be calculated and cast in a way in which I believe will be the most likely to get Trump out of office. And that’s all I can do. That’s all anyone can do. 

Getting mad at people on the Internet and yelling at them, telling them they’re stupid, telling them they’re racist, homophobic, xenophobic (okay, but, really, who isn’t xenophobic? I mean Xenomorphs are fucking TERRIFYING. Oh, what? That’s not what … oh, I see, nevermind), misogynistic, or whatever else we’re accusing people of at the drop of a hat these days.

I mean, yeah, sure, some people are all these things. The world is full of haters. Homophobes, misogynists, and racists, oh my! They’re everywhere, and they suck. But sometimes … a lot of times … someone just asks an innocent question, or happens to have a different take on race relations than someone else, and they’re shouted down as a bigot. Call me crazy, but I don’t really think that’s a very smart way to try to get someone to vote for your guy (or girl). But, hey, what do I know?

But I’ve digressed, wandered off on a tangent, as I’m prone to do. Bringing it back around, another thing that’s not going to get them to vote for your guy is telling them you want to take their guns away. It doesn’t matter how sensibly you try to frame it, all they hear is that you want to take their guns away. Do you want to take their guns away? Because that’s not how you take their guns away. 

Instead, don’t talk about guns. Talk about the other issues that matter, issues that affect their every day lives. The way to beat Trump would be to make it so that nobody was talking about guns, or race, or misogyny, or homophobia on election day. 

But that’s fucking crazy. Because this is America. So, sit back, watch the shit show, and don’t let it get your blood pressure up. That’s my advice. Because this is going to be a bumpy ride and the landing is probably going to suck.  

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I’m An Asshole

Let’s try this again.

Let’s start over. I started this blog a long time ago, and if I’m being honest, which I am, I’ve been scared to make it what it is supposed to be. But not anymore. So, without further ado —

Hi. 

I’m Dick. I’m a dick. I’m an asshole. And I’m very tired of pretending that I’m not. Most likely, you’re a dick, too. Most people are. The world is full of assholes. Can we agree, for the sake of non-argument, that when describing one’s personality, an asshole and a dick are pretty much the same fucking thing? Good. ‘Cause I’m going to use them interchangeably whether you fucking like it or not. You got a problem with that? That’s what the comment section is for. 

There won’t be any comments. Nobody knows this blog is here. Nobody cares this blog is here. That’s fine. Happy Harry Hardon started talking into the void to nobody. And that’s who I’ll talk to now. My fucking self. Why? Because I fucking need to say this shit. And because I fucking need to hear this shit. 

If anyone does find this blog and decides to follow it, at some point, I’m going to piss them off. Because I’m not holding back here. Some people might stumble upon this and agree with a whole lot of shit that I say, and then one day … BOOM! I’m going to rip into something that is special to them, and they’re going to get offended. 

Because that’s what people fucking do. They get offended. So — we all walk around on tenterhooks to avoid smashing the eggshells that are the fragile egos of our planet’s fellow inhabitants. 

Well, listen. My ego isn’t fragile. It’s made of fucking silicone. Stomp the fuck out of it with army boots if you need to, it’s going to spring right back. I’m not sure this is a good thing, to be perfectly honest, I’d like to shed my ego entirely and truly recognize that I am merely a single vessel in the eternal consciousness of the Universe, and while I understand the concept and strive for it — well, shedding one’s ego is easier said than done. 

But most people are assholes, and they just hide it in public. People act way different in public than they do around a small group of people they feel comfortable with, and I think that’s bullshit. I’ve been playing along, and I’m fucking sick to death of it. I’m done. I’m not doing it anymore. 

I don’t want to take away anyone’s right to insult me. I don’t want to take away someone’s right to call me a faggot, a queer, a cocksucker, a filthy queen (which would be weird, cause I’m totally straight-acting, I’m a man  who likes fixing cars,and doing home repairs, and working out, and having sex with men — and musicals — but I digress).’

I don’t want to take away anyone’s right to tell me why I’m a sick bastard who is going to hell. And I don’t want my right taken away to tell that person why I think they are a fucking idiotic, moronic, bigot who bases their opinion on an imaginary all-powerful sky fairie who stars in the most ridiculous book I’ve ever had the displeasure of reading.

Your right to swing your fist ends an inch from my nose. Your right to refuse me service in a business open to the public doesn’t exist. You don’t have that right. But your right to speak your mind ends fucking nowhere. If you make wedding cakes for a living, you HAVE to make me my cake if I ask you to. But you have every right to tell me why you’d rather not, what you think of my lifestyle, and make me question whether or not I’ll be eating your spit. But at the end of the day, if you make wedding cakes for the public, and I say I want you to make my gay wedding cake, you have to make it. And, to be clear, spitting in it is against the law. But if you feel that way, I don’t want you to make my fucking cake. I, personally, would rather take my business elsewhere. I don’t want you to have my money, which is why I choose not to eat at Chick-Fil-A. 

I like freedom. I don’t want it to be against the law to hurt someone’s fucking feelings.