When I woke up this morning, my arms were incredibly sore. While I curled myself tightly in what I affectionately call "the Blanket Burrito", I realized my arms were engaged in some sort of riot against the rest of my body. This was one of those riots that involved setting fire to everything in sight, flipping police cars, and rampant looting.
The dull ache was such that for a moment, I believed I had been innoculated against every disease known to man last night, by some sort of needle-happy tooth fairy who decided to hit her entire quota in one night, on one arm.
Then I remembered why my arms no longer worked. The night before.
I have this little weight that I picked up for around five bucks a few months ago. It weighs perhaps seven or eight pounds and is coated in rubber. I generally only use it during commercials when I infrequently watch TV. I do sets of fifteen, in varying positions - a bicep curl, lifting using only my wrist, and an over-the-head motion that probably has a name, but I'm such an exercise weenie that I have no idea what it's called.
It's a small weight because I'm not supposed to use the big ones - large weights will increase muscle mass, and as a diabetic, that's a bad thing. And when you lift small weights, you're supposed to do large numbers of reps. This has, in fact, been working fairly well for me. Until last night.
I was watching Jeopardy, and as usual, I was kicking ass. It's a well-known fact that I am a Jeopardy king. I mean, if you had only fifteen seconds, could you name the two countries in the world that contain the letter 'x'?
I was doing reps during commercials, when I began to think - aren't you supposed to lift until your arm gets sore? Isn't that how muscles develop? And so, I started doing reps.
And I mean, a lot of reps.
Fifty curls on the left arm. And then fifty with the wrist. And then fifty.... basically, each arm was lifting the weight, in different ways, about two hundred times before I would switch arms. And then, I'd switch arms again. All while watching Jeopardy.
It's a small weight, so you don't really notice it, and after I had lifted what was approximately the weight of a newborn baby around six hundred or so times, I felt a pleasant ache in my arms. It actually felt nice. I was beginning to sweat, and so decided to call it a night.
I woke up this morning in such pain that I wanted to punch myself in the face. Of course, my arms weren't working. And I'm not nearly flexible enough to kick myself in the face. I waddled into the bathroom, mumbling something about lifting six hundred babies, and then realized it hurt to pick up the toothbrush.
When you can't pick up your toothbrush because you pulled a muscle lifting a seven pound weight, you usually wind up staring at yourself in the mirror for a very, very long time.
But at least I know that Mexico and Luxembourg are the only two countries in the world that contain an "x".