Monthly Archives: September 2012

Disposition


I never had an MRI before.

It was weird, annoying and unlike what anything the guy told me “It’s like a jackhammer. Expect lots of noise.” Personally I believe within this white tunnel is where Dub Step music saw its creation.

I had fun in there for the first 10 minutes and than I started to be in tune with my body and before I knew it my muscles were involuntary (or voluntary) twitching on its own due to the full blast of radiowaves. See, I was given specific rules to not move at all in this tunnel otherwise the process has to start from the beginning all over again. So I stood as stiff as a hard cock and found this to be difficult because I’m generally very energetic and this is also why if I paint my nails I do it one hand at a time, never two. But what does that matter?

I made it through by listening to the Dub Step noise the tunnel made and went back into being in tune with my body where I felt so hot I forgot I was in an air-conditioned room with shorts on and for a second I thought I was experiencing the opening stages of menopause. The strange thing was I could feel each time those waves moved from one part of my body to the other although of course it’s supposed to be concentrated on my shoulder. Still, for some reason I felt everything that was going on. I felt the cramps it gave me during the last 10 minute of the 30 minute session and I no longer focused on my lower back hurting at all.

Allow me to make a note to myself and other women; it’s completely horrible how hospitals don’t care about a woman being covered up properly. Being entirely naked under a gown and large shorts may be enough for a man who sports a chest. Women should receive some kind of soft bra to go with that gown to have some kind of fabric on the nipple and keep it from poking out. I shouldn’t have to be covering my large breasts while an old dirty man who has no respect come up with creative ideas for me to let my arms off from them by offering a box so I can put my locker key into it. There are people in the world who aren’t considerate and don’t have the world of respect if they’re looking at people as objects. I felt extremely uncomfortable.

What angered me the most (besides living on planet earth and stupid people and weak women) besides not having a bra to go with my gown is I had to wait 5 fucking days to get the results for my shoulder. I hate suspense, and never watch the genre even in film.

I sat peering out the gigantic windows from the eleventh floor and right into the parking lot where I smiled as I stared at a tiny group playing Frisbee. They appeared happy. I was happy too. But part of me wasn’t. On one end I was happy because now I’m finally going to learn what the fuck is wrong with my shoulder and unhappy on the other because it took longer than some guy trying to wrap his head around the entire proposal of foreplay. I’m guessing, this is the timing it was meant to happen in. I say this because I believe in everything happening for a reason until there’s not a good reason, probably? I went through almost every episode upon seasons and all types of finales to come back to a full circle.

I didn’t need the orthopedic to waltz in the room carefree and well composed to inform me of something I knew for years now, which is, my shoulder adapting a screenplay of agonizing hell. I’ve no idea how I got it. I know I’ve worked through numerous sorts of pain. My only guess is it happened over time, so it’s impossible to pinpoint anything at this moment. I have good days. I have bad days. This involves training or no training at all with this shoulder.

This took me a while to figure out on my own. How much I could push and knowing when I have to be on reserve mode and recover fully in order to go hard again. It took time to slowly get my teres minor up to a place of little to no pain or what I call flare outs, deep inflammation. There are days it hurts in the anterior part of my shoulder. There are days when it only hurts posterior (where the rear delts are and how it trickles down to the teres minor, teres major and subscapularis) or deep with in the ball and socket. Some days it hurts everywhere and I wake up to a stiff shoulder with the rain bearing down on the decision to workout. It sucks monkey balls! But I’m dealing.

Before the doctor came into the room, the caretaker decided, (probably inappropriately timing?) to hand me over the papers stating my MRI results. I read the first few lines and had a dull ache in my heart. I swore I cried somehow internally. After I read all the various things (moderate tendinosis of the superior rotator cuff, Superior labral tear and trace glenohumeral joint effusion, fluid extending into the subscapularis recess; this may represent a paralabral cyst) occurring with this shoulder of mine I peered out once again to discover happiness in someone else’s and continued to watch the small group play Frisbee with laughs and joys, dances and no worries in the present.

I want to feel like that again about my body. I’m tired of being cautious and having to slow down. I’ve had enough of this patience thing life is clearly expressing to me. I want to assault like the way I know how, with my wild passion and chockfull of excitement. I want to throwdown when it comes to training and never look back.

So, what is a labral tear?

-Pennington

P.S.

Will continue this further in another entry.  Also this blue velvet is speaking to me right now.  So enjoy it somehow. ;)

Excellence


To Whom It May Concern,

Am I supposed to take you serious when your life is a globe of highly glamorized and technical excuses?

Why don’t you swap out that bowl of rice, at least, three times a week for a meditation plate of steamed or sautéed loving vegetables?  Instead of that charming syrupy soda and ten percent real juice of sweetened death, why don’t you humor me and demonstrate a bit of love for classy filtered water, maybe slice and smell the precious aromas of cucumbers and orange slices for additional zest?

I’m not asking for you to be perfect.  Not because we can’t strive for our individual utopia, but because it’s impracticable, as say, sending sailing boats of flying monkeys at ludicrous speed to the moon.

However there’s a word that stands unaccompanied.  At times it displays itself awkwardly like stumbling on a sentence during public speaking while other times it rolls on high as the sky and as confident as thriving thunder.  But it’s continuously alone like unrewarding honesty and isolated introverts where only few can and will desire to achieve it:  Excellence.

Do you have it in you?

Pennington

Mammoth Crush: The Girl In Me 2



Link 1

There has been countless times where I’ve felt guilty as fuck and couldn’t understand whether I love to fall into his girlfriend’s smile?  Or if I craved to crack her lips to make it go away?  Or punch myself in the face to assist in the erasing of every single corkscrew of a feeling dismayed?  How many times have I felt helpless, backing into a memory triggered and I was where they were, blessed and swayed?  My only intention was being within the same exact space he was in so I could inhale the same breath as he while my armor fell to the ground pressed and unafraid. 

..Stupid.  Oh so stupid!…

Anxiety twisted its daggers and rattled my nerves in the dark pits of my belly over what they do not know.. how I feel.  Except I have good reason to believe different say the times where I blurted real statements that were shrouded by the fact that liquor and barhopping was involved in spontaneity appeal.

I’ve created fantasies by the fortune of a big wheel by what I’ve seen with my own eyes (which may be just as deceiving as a parent’s love and affection for an only child) trying my best not to strain the muscle to my sight when I looked over their pictures and how it hit me thunderous quick like a jab snapped from the words of ancient scripture.  I see an amazing couple who meshes well like calm water into calmer pitcher.  They must have it great like the cheerful sun making love to the sky or how the moon melts it’s glow into the night.   But what do I know since I could only view what the grass smells and tastes like from the other side? 

I caught myself lost in the moment of what I perceive to be fact by obsessing over the imagined. 

They love each other and display it like fashion.  I watch and it makes me sick with backbiting spasms like once where I examined everything one evening at their studio apartment celebrating a party completely disarming, until I saw their bed and I envisioned them cuddling and making sweet love charming.  I plummeted without words or expressions ill to my stomach.  Mostly by the summit of how I actually felt about him.  And why do I feel this way about him?  It’s strong like the religion of gym. 

Sick as I was with an ex lover of mine to get closer to him.  Sick because I pretended to be friends with everyone in the circle to be closer to him.  Sick to my stomach on how it makes me sick to begin with.  I seethe and my heart breaks momentarily wishing I weren’t smart enough to know what feelings meant, just before I come around and snap into my senses again.   FUCK THEM!

-Pennington

Side note:  I dislike doing continuations to a past entry because it’s hard to be in the same exact moment with the same amount of inspiration as I felt during which and when I first created the post.  If part 2 has disappointed you as it has me to a certain degree, the sentence before this one may have had a lot to do with it.  Thanks for reading. :)

Documentary: Pulling John


One word: Wow!

First off I know nothing about arm wrestling.  Except that it involves arms and you need techniques to get by.  Now that we got that out the way, all I know is that arm wrestling is exciting!  How exciting?  Let’s just say I wasn’t expecting this sport documentary to have my adrenaline boost to edgy nervousness within the first 5 minutes of the film.  I also wasn’t expecting to fall hopelessly in love with the subject at hand and the three amazing guys they follow on the journey.  Nor did I know that at least 120 countries actually compete in arm wrestling.

On the flip side I had no idea how arm wrestling isn’t necessarily all about brute and muscle strength.  Or about being the bigger size person, say Thor.  Or arm density.  Or arm mass.  Or large tendons.  Or hand grip.  Or hand size.  Or reaction time.  Or wrist endurance.  Or even good referees.  Better yet going through a tournament, taking on many different competitors until you’re finally the one on top within the same day (I’m uncertain on how many hours?) is downright ludicrous.  Imagine the arm/mental/stamina and physical strength that takes.  I’m sinking in my panties just thinking about it.

You meet John Brzenk, the main character.  He doesn’t appear superhuman, not by his size, not by the calm collected look in his eyes.  But by the twenty-five years of his arm wrestling career.  Let’s just say, well, it speaks for itself:  Unbeatable.  Now is he to relish in a stellar streak forever as he questions his age and retirement to the sport itself?  Or will the hot-headed powerhouse American Travis Bagent or the muscular beast with good morals from Russia (who’s very good-looking) Alexey Voevoda snatch John Brzenk’s title?

You’re just going to have to find out.  On a final note however, the other other best thing about this film is just how easy it flows with it’s storytelling, how every champion is introduced from family to the arm wrestling sport itself, to a hint of their training and so on.  John, Travis and Alexey bring different qualities and traits to the film itself.  Ultimately Pulling John lures you (I know it did me) in and keeps you at suspense right to the very end.

Watch this film if you like good documentaries or good movies.  If you’re into the Training or Fitness Life.  If you need motivation and extra inspiration to take you to new heights mentally, spiritually or physically.  If you like to look at strong people tackle other strong people.  If you like your blood boiling.  If you’re a fan of any sport.  If you like fun and refreshing topics.  If you get excited over competitions.  Than watch this!  Otherwise skip this movie if you’re a punk ass bitch and have shitty taste in movies anyway.  ;)

P.S.

I’m so moved by Pulling John that I want to learn about arm wrestling and perhaps even train for it.

-Pennington