Now, I like chafed nips as much as the next guy, and I was putting 30-40 minutes on the treadmill four or five times a week. Then last week, something felt a little off. Then it got a little worse. Then it got worse still. Tendinitis? By the end of last week I was in some serious pain, and went to see my physician, Dr. Daryl Isaacs (you know him as the extravagantly rumpled British doctor in Supersize Me. Really). He checked me out and told me I most likely had a stress fracture from all the vigorous exercise. I knew it! Exercise IS bad for you! I immediately went home, and looked up "stress fracture" on Web MD: "Stress fractures seem to be more common in women, especially in women who do not have regular menstrual cycles." Eureka! So I bought a cane (though mine looks more homeless than House) and scored a Decepticon-looking walking cast, which is frankly a bigger pain in the ass than the pain in my ankle. But what would all this mean for the Challenge?
1. Stationary bike, or swim
Many years ago, while still a plucky inviolate intern of the Maxim, I broke my elbow initiating some fools into the Phi Slamma Jamma fraternity in a game of b-ball (I fell down on a parquet floor). Now, I have a slab of metal where my right arm was and, needless to say, that shit hurts when I do…anything. Our painful workout routine and merciless trainers have seriously exacerbated my old war wound, but I will power through like the champion I am…while adding Flintstone’s Chewable Morphine to my diet.
1. Switch hands
2. No more spankwire.com
3. Limit myself to once a day…OK, two times
4. Upgrade from socks to two-ply
5. Change stroke speeds from “furious” to “strenuous”
Besides the occasional case of the DOMS (Delayed Onset Muscle Soreness), which can hurt like a bitch when I do things like, uh, stand, I’ve pretty much had no work out-related injuries. I have, however, noticed that having large amounts of fiber in the kinda nasty cereals I’ve been eating for breakfast (Good Friends anyone?) has allowed me get through all the reading material in the Maxim bathroom.
1. Stretching out to Yanni and Enya after each work out
2. Full-body massages from our red-headed intern, Harry
3. Getting drunk after workouts
Aside from the loneliness my liver has been feeling (Jager shots are weirdly not part of my Nutropia plan) I’ve been injury free. I have the knees of a 90-year-old hooker, so I really need to give mad love to my New Balance 1063s. They absorb the shock of my weight while I’m running, and deal with the horrors of my toe garbage with nary a complaint. Thanks for keeping me in one piece, special silvery friends!
1. Lots of ice
2. Deep-tissue massage from clown chained to oil burner in basement
"Aw shit! My hammy, bros!" I never thought I'd ever be yelling such a testosterone-soaked yelp of help in a weight room, but a few weeks back, I did. Like a little bitch. I was doing squats. Too much weight. Muscles too cold. Kersnap! Thankfully, it was just a "pop" not a real blow out and I recovered in a day.
1. Bed rest
4. Tons of water
5. A new pair of Asics GT's (they so sweet, yo)
6. Learning to fucking stretch and warm up a bit (try a few squat thrusts or, like me a jiggly set of naked jumping jacks in front of the mirror in the locker room) before I start gruntin' and thrustin' some iron