Finally, it was over.
The pushup challenge that I started in November was complete. I am now a shell of a man albeit one with very strong arms. 100 pushups a day for a whole month has been an insane task that at various points I had almost given up on.
But BOOM! I didn't give up. Not for a fucking minute. Even on the grimmest most painful hungover days where each pushup felt like breaking the hymen of a leathery whale I had driven myself on.
What was the secret sauce?! What gave you the strength to carry on, was it the fact you were raising money for Charity?
Well, young padawan. I would like to say that it was the thought of collecting money for charity that helped me through the darkest moments but no, it was simpler than that.
When things got really tough I just thought how amazing I was and then I went out on the hills to find a Wild Haggis to kill with my new musclebound hands.
That's right sistaz, everything above the waist is now sheathed in thick ropes of muscle. I have become an Arnie of a killing machine. Opening tins like Popeye and lifting cars off damsels in distress. There has been no limit to my new strongman high jinks.
But back to the Haggis hunting. They didn't always come quietly, oh no but that is the joy of fighting a Haggis. The other joyous part of course is the eating.
As they said in ancient Sparta, Only a Scotsman is man enough to eat a Haggis and it's true. I challenge anyone who is not Scottish to try and eat one. They just don’t have the mouthage.
But I digress! I was fairly absent on Hive this month because to be frank, in between doing a gabillion pushups a day and hunting the wild Haggis out on the lonely cold mist-bound hills AND having arms like wet spaghetti killed my creativity.
Or maybe it was the Haggis juice, I dunno.
Killed it stone dead.
All I wanted to do was eat pasta and chocolate. (separately that is) and sit on the couch playing X-Box and weeping at the thought of getting down on the floor and giving myself twenty more. As they say.
But I am back. With the shoulders of a Silverback and the nipples of a timid Deer, I am free of the pushups and can begin to reintegrate with society again.
No more shouting in the supermarket that THERE IS NO FUCKING UNEXPECTED ITEM IN THE BAGGING AREA??! - The Roid Rage of Pushup month is truly past.
Oddly though, I am slightly missing the pushups.
Maybe I can't stop? Sweet Jeebus. Am I addicted to fitness now? Do I have to trade in the good lady for a Sabaton? Is it a Sabaton, Sabadon, Pelaton, Pteranodon? You know, one of those bloody running machines that people with low self-esteem use instead of masturbating in a cupboard like normal folk.
I feel I have entered uncharted waters.
I hope I can find my way back to shore.
