Can’t Feel My Arms

I can’t feel my right arm.

The feeling is starting to come back a bit in my left.

I’m gonna say there are two reasons for this.

First. Arm day at PlayFITStayFIT.

So, the worst thing you can see when you walk into PlayFITStayFIT is J-Vicious. And Skratch.

Doing a partner workout.

Because you’re gonna think that they’re both doing the 4 o’clock class.

And you’re gonna get kind of happy.

Because that should mean that they’ll leave you alone during the 5 o’clock class to partner with the only person you ever really want to partner with.

Because gym time is my Fall Risk social time.

But here’s what y’all may not know about Skratch.

He’s freakin evil.

Behind his sweet, endearing exterior. He’s pure plotting evil.

We know this about J-V already.

But Skratch has always been one of the good guys. The first to jump in when someone needs help moving. The first to arrive to help set up and break down Mountain Junkies events. The first to make sure there are Doritos available mid-race.

(I mean, I think Goatfinder is behind much of this. But Skratch goes along with it. So, good guy, right?)

Except no.

Because he is also the first to say, “Hey! I know how we can make Sunshine cry!”

So their desire to make me suffer is so strong. That after a brief whisper session. They decided that Skratch would stay for the 5 o’clock class. My class. And he and J-Vicious would split time making me miserable.

But…why…?

I’m starting to wonder if this isn’t some ploy. That every other person in the gym has announced behind my back that they absolutely refuse to partner with me.

Like, have they all signed some sort of “anyone but Sunshine” pact? And threatened to walk out if they have to partner with me?

And J-V has to put me with someone, though. Because I’m a client.

So he’s just taking one for the team?

And poor Skratch threw himself on the sword last night? Because he and J-V have this kind of unsettlingly intense gymance happening? (Seriously. I’m certain that burpees are their love language.)

Is that what’s happening here?

Who do I have to bring chocolate to in order to get back into the normal human gym partner mix?

Because freakin Skratch was pushing me through the first half of those rounds like we were participating in some sort of Olympic time trial.

And what was written at the top of the board was this:

5-10-15-20-25-30-35-etc

You weren’t supposed to actually get to the etc.

Because there were seven sets of really just bullshit exercises to get through each round.

That’s why it didn’t say 45.

It was just etc because we weren’t actually supposed to make it there.

Not just because J-V couldn’t remember his times tables.

But we did.

Make it to 45.

And it was awful.

And I’d like to reiterate here. In writing. That my last blog post did not say that I wanted to be pushed through really hard workouts. What it said, in fact, was that I just want my clothes to fit.

Which leads me to the second reason for the sensationless arms.

My inability to fit my clothes anymore.

Rogue says I’m no longer allowed to shop nor pack my gym bag by myself.

She said this after she and Fall Risk watched me. For ten minutes. Squeeze myself into a running sweatshirt. Which are already pretty form fitting by design. That was perhaps a size, or even two, too small.

I don’t know why.

I mean, kind of weight gain.

But also I’m pretty sure I found it on a clearance rack. And didn’t actually read a label. But just eyed it a bit. And probably remembered being that size at some point in my life.

So. *sigh* I’ve just taken to cramming applicable body parts into whatever clothes I pick up.

It ain’t pretty.

We all agreed that I should wait until I got home to take the sweatshirt back off.

Rogue was pretty sure scissors were going to need to be involved.

I do appreciate, however. Given my severely restricted movement and breathing capabilities. That she didn’t make us all run up Jefferson. And instead let us just do our own version of WazUPwidis in the closest parking garage.

She got us through a mile of this. Before letting Fall Risk and I go back for tacos.

Only two. Because that’s what J-V told Fall Risk she could have.

So I only had one. Bowl. One big bowl of rice and beans and chicken and guacamole and sour cream and cheese and etc.

It’s cool.

I had them put cilantro in it. Because you’re supposed to eat leafy green stuff. And I’m nothing if not a follower of advice.

Now. If you’ll excuse me. I have to go have this sweatshirt surgically removed. And figure out what I’m gonna shove myself into tomorrow.