It’s Thursday again and it’s time for another Thursday Grake Den happening.
The last blog post involved a gruesome grizzly injury and since it’s the season for the gruesome and
frightful, I’ve decided to piggy back off the last blog and roll with another injury filled post.
Warning: this post contains graphic images of a grizzly and gruesome sort. Viewer discretion advised.
If you hate feet or toes, and other foot like appendages, dire Warning ahead…You WILL be triggered.
Let’s get into this !
You’ve seen those shirts. I know you have. They read something like the following,
“I hit the gym so I won’t hit you”, or,
“No pain, no gain”, OR,
“I won’t quit but I WILL curse the whole time”
There are endless sayings and quotes and funny memes about going to the gym, staying fit, and abusing
Gym so you don’t abuse others.
Well, what happens when Gym has had enough abuse and decides to HIT back?
I am not calling this a gym fail, but you can decide for yourselves by the end of this post if it “falls” into
that category.
Anyone who’s into getting fit, staying in shape, bodybuilding, or part of the all-out effort to get shredded
KNOWS that safety is paramount. It is of the utmost importance. Caution needs to be exercised, not
just your rippling pectorals and chiseled biceps.
Here is the typical safety brief for Gym: DON’T lift heavier than you can handle. Know your limits.
DON’T lift with your back. NEVER drop the weights, place them down. And, there are some others.
But it’s essentially along the same lines.
Moral of the safety story, use common sense, right? But Oh, how uncommon that common sense thing
is. Why do they even call it that?
Any who, I digress…
On this particular Thursday afternoon I’m hitting Gym extremely hard; abuse at its finest. Attempting to
get some major chest gains. If you’ve ever heard the term “ass chest” that’s what I’m working hard to
obtain.
For those that already know, sorry for the brief anatomy lesson. For those that don’t know…well, you’re
gonna learn today.
Your pectoral region is made up of many parts (pectoralis major, pictorials minor, etc.). To achieve
maximum chest growth you’ve got to hit ALL areas of the chest. This comes into play with workouts and
exercises targeting 3 chestal regions.
There is the Upper chest (incline press/fly variations). There is Middle chest (flat press/fly variations).
And Lower chest (decline press/fly variations). If your chest is deficient in maximum pump-tastic-ness
then you are likely NOT hitting 1 or more of these 3 chestal regions hard enough.
Guys, and gals, when you lift on chest day are you hitting all 3 parts (Upper, middle, & lower chest) over
the course of your workout? If you’re not, you’re missing out on your maximum pump-tential.
Alright, enough w/ the anatomy, back to Gym’s brutality.
Lately, me and Gym are the best of friends. And luckily, Gym is only a 3 minute car ride, with traffic,
away from my house at Hershey Squirtel Lane. It’s close, extremely close…if you’re picking up what I’m
laying down.
It’s approximately 4PM and I’m hitting Gym solo. Sergeant Shredded couldn’t attend
today’s session w/ Gym for reasons unremembered by me.
I pull into my usual parking space, collect my belongings, and walk inside Gym. I take a quick survey of
the land and proceed straight ahead to the wall of infamous fitness lockers. I pick locker #5 because,
well, it’s open and 5’s my number. I place my car keys inside the locker and shoot off a text to The
Sergeant letting her know that the abuse is about to unfold.
“Chest day! Let’s get it 💪🏼
Wish you were here. I love you…”, are the first and only words I’m able to send out before beginning
the chest onslaught.
I grab my navy blue hand towel, connect my headphones, select the most savage Gym track available
and stroll towards the first station. Flat bench press.
Now, I have a pretty intense, borderline insane regimen for training chest and I like to change it up every
few weeks. Flat bench press looks a little something like this for maximum middle chest explosion:
135 LBS x 15, 185 LBS x 10, 225 LBS x 10, 275 LBS x 3, 225 LBS x 8, 135 LBS x 17
I do my thing, pushing through the necessary weight and rep ranges, and finish out the lift. I add weight
and remove weight from the bar, one plate at a time. No calamitous events to speak of, yet.
Next, I move on to the incline bench press. This time, we are gonna do some drop sets. Drop sets must
only be done with a spotter or run the risk of major trauma and instant embarrassment. For incline
bench press drop sets, it looks a little something like this:
Load 4 25 LBS plates on each side of the barbell. Lift till failure, repping as many times with 4 25 LBS
each side. Rack it.
Take off 1 25 LBS plate from each side. Immediately lift, going till failure with 3 plates each side. Rack it.
Take off 1 25 LBS plate from each side. Immediately lift, going till failure with 2 plates.
Continue this process until the bar is empty.
I struggle and sweat, fighting for every last rep. As the weight gets lighter with each removal of a 25 LBS
plate, a strange phenomenon sets in and I can actually perform less reps than before. But, the goal is
always to get 10. (P.S. I never succeed getting thru 10 reps every time. But, that doesn’t stop me from
trying…)
I finish out the drop set. Feeling exhausted and seeing a decent pump after this murderous upper chest
workout. But, the fun is just the beginning. Plenty more work to come and no calamitous events to
speak of, yet.
Next up, I do some dips to target my lower chest. The trick with performing dips for maximum Chest
growth is to have a slightly forward lean as you dip down and press up. Roll your shoulders back and
keep your elbows in. Personally, I shoot for 10 reps each set, or till failure.
I go ahead and knockout 4 sets of dips. Struggling to finish out the necessary rep ranges, and at this point, I’m definitely feeling it. My chest has got a major stupid pump and we are approaching the half way point of this chest
annihilation. But so far, no calamitous events to speak of.
Now it’s time to do some flys (see 8:10 mark) using the cables. I want to maximize my time at Gym and
do some craziness called a superset. A superset is when you go from one workout immediately to the next workout with no break/pause in between. This superset for chest using cables is going to target upper chest, middle chest, and lower chest. Since I just hit lower chest with dips, this specific superset looks like this:
Incline flys x 10, middle flys x 10, decline flys x 10. A continuous set of upper, middle, and lower chest
abuse. That’s 1 set.
Add weight to every set, and perform 4 full supersets rotating between incline, middle, and decline
chest fly variations.
I end up completing 4 super sets, going up in weight each set as I try to obtain 10 reps each lift, but at a
minimum until failure. I close out the last superset of cable flys, and I’m spent. But as they say, no pain,
no gain. I’m definitely feeling some pain, and my chest is screaming at me that I’ve got me some gains.
Do I listen?
.
.
.
Of course not. I keep going. Chest gains don’t make themselves!
Next up, it’s time for some dumbbell action. And because it’s Thursday I’m gonna do some more
supersets. Trying to stay consistent and hit all 3 chest areas, my superset for dumbbells goes like this:
Flat press x 10, incline press x 10, decline press x 10. That’s 1 set.
Go up in weigh each set, performing 4 full supersets rotating between incline, middle, and decline
dumbbell press variations.
I proceed to do 4 sets, and I’m reaching the gassed out phase now. 10 reps, per lift, per set, is a pipe
dream. I’m not even attempting 10 reps at this point; failure is the name of the game. I am hovering
around 5 to 6 reps for each set, until I finish.
By this point of the workout, I’m drenched now; brimming with sweat, and my workout shirt has turned
to dark gray camouflage. Lighter gray spots of dryness mixed with darker gray spots of sopping wet
drippiness.
I’m approaching the end of the workout. It’s been painful, exhausting, hot, and it’s been wet. But it
hasn’t been calamitous…yet.
I have two final workouts remaining. They both involve the hammer strength machine. One is for upper
chest, using the incline hammer strength machine. The other is for lower chest, using the decline
hammer strength machine.
I’m way too exhausted to superset these two lifts together. So, logically, the place to start is incline.
“Eff it, I’m gonna do a drop set!”, I think to myself as I begin loading up the incline hammer strength
machine with 2 45 LBS plates & 2 25 LBS plates on each side.
I go from 4 plates each side (2 45 LBS & 2 25 LBS) all the way down to single 45 LBS plates. Repping out
each set till the bitter end. I’m fast-approaching the breaking point now, after having completed 4 more
sets in an all-out effort to decimate my upper chest.
I could stop, buuuuut, I haven’t done an even amount of reps & sets for decline. I need to do ONE
MORE SET.
DO I reallllly need to do one more set? Do I even need to do one more rep?
.
.
.
OF COURSE I DO!
I meander on over to the decline hammer strength machine. I size this bastard up and start riling myself
up for,
ONE MORE!
One final drop set to rule them all.
The drop set is going to look like this,
3 45 LBS plates on each side till failure. 2 45 LBS plates each side till failure. 1 45 LBS plate each side till
failure. DONE!
After everything I’ve just endured, I’m pleading with myself to push for at least 6 reps with these 3
plates. I climb into the decline hammer strength machine. I think to myself,
“1.
Breathe.
2..
Breathe.
3…
Lift!”
And I lift the weight off and lock out. I proceed to get 5 and 3 quarters reps, ultimately failing to get a
full 6 reps.
*Woooooooo !*
I’m feeling pretty good right about now, doing the Ric Flair Wooooo and everything.
Time to pull off 1 45lb plate from each side.
Rinse, repeat.
I get to drop set number 2. I hit 6 reps this time, struggling to the halfway point of rep number 7…
Nope. No effing way! I’m dying now.
I’m definitely feeling the pain. I take a deep breath, climb out of the machine, and walk around to the
right side of where the weigh plates are.
I look to my right, and breathe. (Look to your right. Deeply breathe. In, 1…out, 2).
I look to my left, and breathe (Look to your left. Deeply breathe. In, 1…out, 2).
I grab a 45 LBS plate from the right side of the machine and give it an aggressive, swift pull.
*Ahhhh!*
*OWWWwwwww!*
*Oh my goshghhhhhhhhggg!!!!!*
*Fffffffff!!*
Amidst the blood-curdling, gut-wrenching screams comes a strange, eerie feeling that washes right over
top of me. Everything goes hazy and dim. Immediately, I feel super dizzy, faint and nauseous. A metric
ass ton of spots, speckles, and other floating debris envelops my line of sight and peripherals.
“What the f-!“, I scream aloud looking down at the floor.
I can’t walk!
I can’t move my foot at all!
My foot is completely numb and the shooting of tingle tangles travels up and down my leg.
“Did anyone SEE THAT!!???”, I think to myself.
I quickly scan the surrounding area and see…there’s no one.
No one is looking on in sheer terror at what just happened.
No one even noticed the yelp or scream of terror bellowing from my voice box.
No one comes over to check and see if everything is ok. No Good Samaritan to speak of to make sure I’m ok.
No one!
Nothing.
Nowhere. Anywhere.
I’m alone. I’m injured. And shock is beginning to set in.
So, I do, what has to be done…
I swiftly collect my belongings and hobble the heck out of there on my one good leg. Hopalong Cassidy
reincarnated as Hopalong Cripple Foot.
Now Is the time I start to panic!
Somehow, someway I have GOT to make it home and assess the damage. But not here.
Not at Gym!
Gym has just delivered the ultimate one hitter quitter. All it took was one lapse in judgement. One
reckless moment. One single lapse in judgement to confirm I grabbed the right 45lb plate.
I can’t move my foot, At ALL. My right foot feels like a damaged, lifeless corpse of appendages hanging
there, hindering my quest to arrive, alive.
How the frick am I going to drive a car without the use of my right foot?!!
I don’t have time to delay. No time to wait. I don’t even think twice. I hobble hop out the front door,
hop into the parking lot, and crow hop/dive into the front seat of the car.
I’m in full blown cold sweats at this point.
While the route home to Sergeant Shredded and Hershey Squirtel Lane is under 5 minutes, the impact
of Gym and the severity of the situation makes it feel like an agonizing, 15 mile trek home. Uphill, both
ways, in the snow..
I speed along and race back home as fast as humanly possible and pull up to the driveway in disarray,
confusion, and utter bewilderment.
“Oh my gosh!
Babe!!!
It’s broken, I KNOW IT IS!
I can’t move it…
I think you might need to take me to the hos-“, I mumble and grumble aloud to Sergeant Shredded in
frantic, incoherent tones.
“Wait, WHAT!
WHAT happened?…
Alright, calm down! Quit your whining and let me take a look.
I can’t even understand what you’re saying.
Take a breath and RELAX.
BREATHE!”, Sergeant Shredded calmly directs.
I begin to untie the shoelaces on my right shoe. As I’m shakingly untying the laces, I elaborate further
on how Gym attacked me. Filled with malice, rage, and ill-intention in his heart.
So what really happened?
Why am I now handicapped, relegated to one good foot on my left and one horribly maimed foot on my
right?
I was one set away. ONE freaking SET AWAYyyyy from completion!
See, what happened was…, I was complacent! I was fatigued and I was moving way too fast. As I was
transitioning to my final set for the decline press drop set, I did an absolutely atrocious thing.
An absolute no no of catastrophic proportions.
See, when I went to grab the topmost, first 45 LBS plate from the right side and gave it an aggressive,
swift pull… I flunked up.
Instead of grabbing the first 45 LBS plate resting on top of the right side, I inadvertently and with
extreme aggression, pulled the wrong 45 LBS plate!
I grabbed the SECOND 45 LBS plate, resting securely and safely underneath the top most 45 LBS plate.
And with one aggressively imprecise pull, all 45 LBS of sheer force and unrestrained aggression crashes
down rapidly! With nothing in its way to minimize the impending, devastating blow.
The 45 LBS plate jumps completely off the hammer strength machine and careens downwards at a
blistering place, 5 + feet straight down onto my size 11 right shoe.
*THUD*
*WHAM*
*BAM*
*Your foot’s a bloody dead man!*
*Ahhhh!*
*OWWWwwwww!*
*Oh my goshghhhhhhhhggg!!!!!*
*Fffffffff!!*, still echoes in my brainwaves as I recount the tale to Sergeant Shredded.
I finally get my right shoe untied and the pain is beyond excruciating, as I attempt to remove the shoe
from my foot.
“Eek, oof, ew, eeh, ahhh, ouchies” I bellyache aloud as Sergeant Shredded rolls her eyes at my drama
filled antics.
I eventually get the shoe removed and peel off my black sock to reveal…the HORROR!
It’s MANGLED!
My right foot is all sorts of wrong, w/ ominous colors of blue and purple. And, the sheer impact of the 45 LBS weight dropping 5 + feet onto my foot has caused a blowout on the underside of my foot, resulting in a 1-inch blood-pouring gash.
Sergeant Shredded, now visibly grossed out from the grotesque foot injury, escorts my injured ass inside.
Allowing me to use her as a crutch for assistance. (It’s a good thing my wife is Sergeant Shredded and not
Private Puny 😉)
Sergeant Shredded does her very best Dr. Mom impersonation, treating my wounds with Peroxide and
bandaging my dilapidated, broke-ish foot with an Ace Bandage to reduce the swelling.
Judging by the look of things, some 2 weeks post incident, you might think I broke my foot. At the very
least, there has to be some fractured bones in my foot, right?!
WRONG! Gym HIT me with his best shot AND, I’m still standing. I DID NOT break any bones nor did i fracture any bones in my foot. I DID, however, receive a month’s-long limp courtesy of GYM’s dastardly deeds. As well as a ridiculously painful memory that haunts me to this day.
BUT, as they say, “No pain, no gain!”
And with that, I put to rest That One Time The Gym HIT Back…On A Thursday!