by, November 1st, 2009 at 06:58 PM (2679 Views)
Last week, inspired by Leslie's relentless evangelism for weight training, I began my first tentative steps at countering the considerable sarcopenia of aging that has made me something of a pariah in my nursing home.
We shall see if this form of exercise eventually makes the attendants less resentful of my frailties.
I also Googled "advice on swimming with X" wherein X was a long list of possible bubo diagnoses (scabies, shingles, tertiary syphilis, molluscum contagiosum, punishment by God, hysterical pregnancy, character defect, brown recluse infestation, MRSA, groin flu, etc.) If the first medical site Google referred me to said to NOT swim with X, I would check for a second opinion at the next referred site. Then a third, fourth, and in a few cases fifth site.
Eventually, I found some doctor, somewhere, or at least a homeopathic herbal snake oil sales person, to say that, yes, indeed, it was perfectly safe to swim with X.
I should add that never once did I have to go to an entirely new page of referred sites before finding a satisfactorily contrarian expert to sanction my return to the water.
Anyhow, bolstered by science, I weight lifted at the Y then returned to the water on Friday and swam Bill's (as always) excellent practice. The main set here consisted of repeated 400 swim, 200 kick combos, wherein one of the 100s in each were sprints. Total with warm up and cool down was 2800.
Yesterday, I swam another 2800 on my own--a nicely meditative nonstop set where you take a kickboard and pull buoy and just go 25 by 25, alternating kick, swim, pull, the right implement always awaiting you when its turn comes, for about 50 minutes or so.
Quick aside on weight lifting. I'd learned from a brutally painful example in my youth to start off with fairly low weights and work your way up over the course of a week or two. Otherwise, you will find yourself unable to scratch your nose, the DOMS (delayed onset muscle soreness) will be so severe two days later. I'd been Nautilusing for about a week, and had stuck to the gradual increase plan--except for one machine. The reason I accidentally overdid it on this one was because it was new to my circuit, and I honestly didn't know how much was too much.
The machine is that one that targets the abductor and adductor inner thigh muscles. Usually, you see women using this machine a lot, which seems to me to be primarily a super Kegal exerciser. A female friend at the Y today told me as much, confiding that the distaff nickname for this machine is "he loves me, he loves me not."
Anyhow, with my new and apparently permanent lesion, I figured maybe it was time for me as well to tone up the musculature surrounding my still unclosed groin opening. This was a mistake.
Today, 2 hours of tennis, more weightlifting, and now a very sore knee from one of the torture devices. I can already hear the snickers from my attendants at the nursing home, their eyeballs becoming stuck in the tops their orbital sockets.
In any event, regular readers of this vlog may have noticed that the past bit of time has had certain elements of stressfulness for your narrator. Today's drawing is my attempt to bring the inner synaptic world to life in visual form.
Biopsy results: T minus 38 1/2 hours. Depending on the verdict, I will reveal the diagnosis either here--or behind the shuttered door of the confessional chamber.
In terms of today's outsider art, I am aware there are certain deficiencies in my technique. However, there are also certain deficiencies in the medium in general, and these are not my fault. I am technologically unable to add an element that could really push this drawing over the edge for even the most picky of amateur art critics.
If I could add one other sensory input to this proxy for my mental state, that other sensory input being the olfactory one, it would be one of those far northern flowers, which grow in the tundra where no bees fly, and thus must depend upon a different kind of insect for pollination, and thus have evolved the floral scent of rotting meat to bring in the fly swarms: this, then, would be the olfactory input I would chose--a field of these meat-scarlet flowers in full humid summer bloom.
Breathe in deep with your mind's nose, I beseech you! And we shall await as one the biopsy results.