Claw Hands

Yesterday morning my co-worker walked into the office carrying a big bowl of cherries.

And announced, to me, that she is allergic to cherries.

And that she would then commence eating them. All of them. Because they are her favorite.

She followed that announcement up with the declaration that she never eats them alone.

I was the only other person in the office.

And while I totally support her reasoning, that felt like more responsibility than I should be given.

I mean, I haven’t even been entrusted with a key to the mail room.

“Ummmm, maybe you should not do that?”

“Nah. It’ll probably be ok. I ate a bunch last night and my throat only closed a little.”

“Riiiiight. So, um, what should I do if you stop breathing? Do you have one of those stabby pens?”

“You mean an epi pen?”

“Hey. Your life is in my hands at this point. I’d avoid the sarcastic tone.”

You know how you don’t have to go pee until you’re charged with monitoring the life of another human, and then suddenly it’s all you can think about?

Twenty minutes later she finished off the bowl, and I was released to go pee.

She survived.

And didn’t even offer me a cherry.

They’re my favorite, too.

And I don’t even require supervision to eat them.

I mean, I probably should be supervised when I’m doing any activity. Including eating.

But the cherries themselves don’t almost kill me.

So I was a little salty walking into Arm Day with J-Vicious. But Tiny Brazilian was making a rare normal human daylight time appearance, so I had excitement mixed with my saltiness.

Until J-Vicious announced the workout.

Waterfall. Like the drinking game, only a slightly greater chance of death. Requiring us to break into teams of 3.

There were only 5 of us.

Plus him.

You know how some wild animals can sense fear and will exploit it to their own benefit?


He happily announced that Tiny Brazilian and I would be on his team. And he would be the lead drinker. I mean, exerciser.

So, while he did hammer curl reps to infinity, Tiny Brazilian and I had to do chest presses and tricep extensions. And had to keep doing them. Until he couldn’t do anymore hammer curls. Or some bullshit like that.

I mean, we took turns leading. But have you seen dude? We call him Muscular White Gut because he can’t type. But his arms are ridiculous. And I’m a tiny little woman. A dainty little flower. A little waif of a girl.

Obviously this was going to be more challenging for me than for him.

Even Tiny Brazilian, who is deceptively, freakishly strong, started fading pretty quickly by the time we hit round 4.

And J-Vicious just seemed to increase in power. Like he was feeding off of our whining.

Frankly it was a little disconcerting.

At one point, he grabbed the weights I was using right out of my hands and threw them into the tire stack. And then shoved fifty pound weights at me.

I almost dove in after my fives, but I wasn’t real confident I’d manage to make it back out.

And I was gonna need food at some point.

But then we finished all of our rounds. With six minutes left in class.

And J-Vicious thought he was being cute when he said we could each pick any exercise we want for the six minute bonus round. And we each had to rotate through the other peoples’ chosen exercise.

He picked pull ups.

Tiny Brazilian picked shoulder taps.

I chose tricep extensions. On the lightest band in the gym.

And I got to lead first.

One and a half minutes. That’s all it took for J-Vicious to start getting a little whiny. He started threatening me.

“Just wait. It’s my turn next. You’re gonna do four full minutes of pull ups.”

“You seem to be under the impression that I won’t do these tricep extensions for the full six minutes.”

His face. The look on his face, y’all. When he realized his vital mistake.

Why would you let me go first on an exercise I got to choose?

Obviously I’m gonna pick the one that I could do all. damn. day.

Around four and a half minutes the band started cutting into that tender little spot between my thumb and forefinger.

I didn’t care.

He was hurting.

And it was beautiful.

Everyone in the gym watched in awe. And admiration. For me. Not him.

I can’t really grip things right today. But I ain’t even worried about it. I don’t care if I’ve crippled myself forever.

I was a freakin PlayFITStayFIT hero.

And it was worth it.

Tiny Brazilian and I had a date at the Sweaty Hillbilly Half Pipe afterwards to celebrate.

It was appropriately named.

Wolfman Jack hosted a kickass event on some homemade trails.

His course comes complete with a map of the trail loops.

They were twisty and windy and a little mesmerizing.

Some folks that obviously aren’t as skilled at reading trail maps (read: follow the person in front of you that knows where he’s going) as I am got lost.

GJB and I fought it out on the first two loops and finally reconciled by loop three.

Where Beautiful Beastie taught him how to do real grown up push ups.

“If your shirt ain’t dirty, that one don’t count!”

She’s beautiful, but she’s mean.

Everyone’s Favorite Husband taught us all how to sharpshoot, confirmed my hunchback, and prescribed Rogue’s elbows for treatment. And justified my need for really super light weights for my shoulders. I almost asked him to write me a note to give to J-Vicious, but I figured he’d just accuse me of forging it. Tiny Brazilian was there to witness it and she’s way meaner than J-Vicious, anyway.

Everyone tried the rope climb. A few of them managed it. But since my hands are now permanently stuck in the claw position, I just kind of hung there. Swinging. Until I fell off.

But the after party was on point. Wolfman knows how to host a run.

Coolers of not K-Rob-D approved beer. But she didn’t show, so she can’t judge. Fruits. Ice cream. Bug spray.

All of the grown ass folks spent some time peer pressuring the teenage boy into running the Conquer the Cove marathon.

But really, he’s a damn beast so the full should be a requirement.

We all partied out as long as we could.

Until Tiny Brazilian and I had to leave. Because 5am Full Body HIIT.

Which I managed to drag myself to this morning despite the continued nausea.

Glad I did, because I got to witness Skratch not only whine about an exercise, but also threaten Tiny Brazilian with a 40 pound medicine ball.

He apparently followed class up with a 20 mile run at the Cove.

I went home, brewed a pot of coffee, and promptly fell asleep before I could drink it.

If you need me, I’ll be over here trying to figure out how to use voice command on my computer to order new running shoes.

Because claw hands.

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