Mount Squat

My mood reflected the weather we had been having lately. Dour and drab interspersed with the odd glimmer of light. I had been tasked with a trivial job. One which demanded a burst of toil and sweat.

I had to move a high jump landing area across the running track. A simple chore which could be carried over a few feet.

A wee bit of manouvering was involved and I moved the first mat into position. All it needed now was a manly push.  My body tightened up like some old man had felt my leg and my arms threw themselves out like I was pushing the old pervert away.

A searing pain shot through my right shoulder. Like someone was trying to floss my armpits with cheesewire.

The old stiff upper lip kicked in and I finished the gig.

The pain lingered throughout the day and by dinnertime, my range of motion had all the qualities of a Lindsay Lohan acting performance. Limited and painful to watch.

 One diagnosis later and I was lamenting over my torn ligament in the shoulder.

"No training for six weeks"

Those words cut deep.

I sat there in a daze. Her words turned to white noise as I contemplated this reality she was forcing upon me. I had to call on all my powers of resolve and figure out how I could deal with this conclusion.

Thats when I spoke to my inner god, squat

I realised that the time had come, the time to seek solace in the squat rack and pray for redemption. Now was the time to devote six lonely, hard weeks climbing the well beaten chalk paths of Mount Squat...