Scapulas of fire


So Monday marked my first day back with Helga after this flare of Uncomfortable Embarrassing Chronic Digestive Malady.  He went easy on me, uncharacteristic of him, but I think it’s just a ploy to keep me alive longer.  So he can torment me more.

We did the usual carefree skipping about, punctuated by pushups on the bar — which he set fairly high, miraculously — and this new thing.  Bar is about shoulder height, grip it at the shoulder width with an outward-facing grip like you’d like to wrap it around someone’s neck.  Certainly not your trainer’s neck, nooo, but some other ne’er-do-well.

Place your feet far ahead of you so that you are now almost hanging from the bar.  Unavoidable reference to “Hang In There, Baby” kitten poster popular in 70’s middle school lockers.  As if middle schoolers have actual problems, CHUH.

Proceed with sort of weird reverse-pushup thing.

The next morning, avoid any activity involving raising arms above waist, as scapulas are no longer on speaking terms with rest of body.


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