I’m trying to figure out a tongue-in-cheek way to tell you all that I’m struggling….that I’m wondering if this shit is really worth it…..that I’m doubting myself and not seeing any progress, but sometimes I just have trouble being funny.

When I wake up in the morning, I’m more brittle than your mother’s dry ass cornbread.  I have to take pain meds or anti-inflamatories just to make it from my bed to the shower.  Then I have to soak my back and shoulders in hot water until I can move again.   Since I’m a fat bastard and I have an unimpressive shower, that means slow gyrations for maximum coverage.  It looks like soft porn on Skinemax.  Truly disturbing.

Then I have to put on underwear.  You’re laughing, but I’m serious.  I can’t bend over and pull them shits on because my legs, back, and arms won’t work correctly, so I have to perch precariously on one leg and bend my other leg at the knee and lasso my foot with the leg hole of my drawers, then pull them up, support myself on the counter with one hand while I do the same routine on my bad leg.  You fuckers don’t realize that when you’re sore after a jitz workout, I’m more sore.  Imagine doing your training with a midget wrapped around your waist.  That’s how it is for me.

Do YOU have to do that shit?  I doubt it.

Then I go through my workday….aching everything….and finally drag myself into the gym looking like roadkill and subsequently get destroyed by every new person who walks in off the street to start training.  I don’t win against old ladies.  I don’t win against blind people.  I don’t win against other fat bastards.  Ever.  You’d think I was the French army with all of the losing I do.

Then there’s the weight.  I kill myself, I lose 1.5 pounds per week.  I slip up for one day and eat wrong, I gain two pounds back.  Dafuq?