Story time dear reader. Get a cup of tea and sit back.
Recently, as of a year ago now, I decided it would be a good idea to get injured. Well I didn’t have much say to be honest. My shoulder, after years of the abuse of daily mouse use, objected to the fact that now I was deciding to pick up heavy things with it. I, of course, assumed this was muscle soreness. Yus! I will grow big and strong. The shoulder said no, and constantly got weaker and more painful. Now, not to brag, or “up myself” as the kiwis’ say, but I was doing pretty good work at gym. Packing on the muscle, but even better, getting really close to going Super Saiyan (for the three Dragon Ball Z fans out there – I got your back bros!). Gaining strength like a fat kid gains cake. So to suddenly, and sharply, regress to the power level of a full time IT worker, I must admit, it was a bit of a blow to the training plans. And the ego. But mostly the training plan, of course.
So after a few months of trying to cure the injury with more weights, it was time to go to the physio. Hoping he could crack my back, flex my bicep and send me back out to the gym to continue on my training to becoming a Governor. If only life was a movie. I would have passed my physio montage by now, be onto the election montage and arrive at the part where I step into Public Office to make decisions I am very much not qualified to make. Alas. this “getting better’ montage is taking its time and doesn’t have the required amount of shots of me looking out the window or even the cool cross fading scenes to imply progress. But it does have a very sick soundtrack. Back to real life now – I was not getting better in a hurry. Physio lead to ultrasounds which lead to shoulder specialists and cortisone injections and now back to physio and sports massage. This is where we are currently.
During this entire ordeal, I got discouraged many times. Watching one’s strength, which one had worked so hard for, essentially disappear overnight is not the best way to stay motivated. Even though I was leaking motivation through every pore, I kept up with the gym. Forgoing the weights for (ew) cardio… I would like say it paid off and I now have abs which even Zeus would be jealous of, but no such luck. The hole motivation left was quickly filled with cake. Good cake. Bad cake. It didn’t matter. And so I jogged. The more I jogged, the more cake I ate. Its a vicious cycle. Until one day I just had had enough. Enough of being fat, chubby and unfit.
Goodbye cake. Hello swimming. And not because it was totally recommended to me by the specialist as a form of rehab. I still have no motivation for gym and getting fit and being slimmer and (even more) godlike. But, hell, I control my motivation. I tell it when to come and go. And right now I tell it to be excited about swimming. I don’t feel like doing all this activity. If I were to base everything I did on how I feel, well, I wouldn’t go to work or pay taxes. But feelings are not there to control us. One of the things I learnt while picking up heavy things (and totally stolen from my trainer Tom), is feelings mean nothing. Feelings aren’t going to lift the weight. Feelings aren’t going to get you to eat healthy. Feelings are a muscle and we chose when to flex them.
The lesson here folks, feelings will lie to you. They tell you to sleep in an extra 15 minutes. They tell you you are deserved a raise. They tell you you should be fitter for the effort you put in. Feelings mean nothing. Its all hard work. Shut up and show up. If you don’t show up, you’ll never accomplish anything. I am still injured. I am now laughably weak. But, I will get better. I will be back in the gym, lifting even heavier weights. I will be swimming faster. I will be punching harder.
There is no other option.

Categories: Blog

1 Comment

Evan · May 9, 2017 at 9:38 pm

I have a chocolate oreo cake with your name on it ^^

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