Saturday I felt passable and with enough ibuprofen, sudafed, and caffeine, could have gotten a workout in.
Sunday I felt fine.
The problem both days was that my hands were fucking nasty and had open sores on them. Also there was some crust around my nose and mouth that could not be hidden by my mustache.
Today I felt fine again. My hands still had a lot of pink dots on both sides but everything was dried up and was basically scar tissue.
I couldn’t stand it anymore so I went to lift. No one said anything like “what’s up with your hands?” or even “where have you been?” I guess they just figured I’d been going on times or days when they weren’t there, or that I’d gone away for the weekend. Of course there were only 3 people: Emilio, Chad, and John who could have even possibly noticed.
The exact same weight before my last workout 6 days ago. I ate 2 meals a day and a protein shake on days when I was spending most of my time in bed. I was down to 179 one morning when I bothered to weigh myself. I did consume too many throat lozenges (12 calories of sugar each). The last few days I ate normally.
Squat: up to 415; 425x6x1
BTN Press: up to 155; 150x6x2
Sumo+light band: 5 sets, all PRs, up to 340 off 3″ deficit.
I noticed that I had some calluses torn off or something.
Post-workout I noticed that things were pretty wild. The tips and the pads of my fingers are all dead skin. And now it’s coming off in hunks.
Been dousing with hydrogen peroxide every few hours and putting neosporin on extra sore spots. Wife is back to cooking and doing the dishes for me.
Will workout tomorrow. May not deadlift.
For those sanitary do-gooder types, I did spray and wipe down all the bars I touched, but I always do that.
As a side note, once after hiking vast distances around Fairbanks in the winter, I had a flap of dead skin on the sole of my foot that measured approx 2×3 inches. During a meeting in the barracks room my squad leader was staying in, I peeled it off. (This was late evening; most of us were in PTs and flip-flops) My squad leader was busy briefing us on some exciting grid coordinates, or how the battalion commander wanted everyone to carry their canteens on their left side, or some such drivel; but everyone’s attention was on me. As soon as the meeting was over, and he left, I yanked the skin the rest of the way off. Some guy said he’d pay me ten bucks to eat it, and I immediately did.
He refused to pay, saying that I’d swallowed it whole, which didn’t count as “eating it”. I made the argument that if I took his last M&M and swallowed it whole, he would accuse me of having eaten it.
I can’t remember whether he eventually paid me or if I just beat his arms black and blue for being a welcher.
Coming next, unless really interesting things happen at the gym to distract me: I review the latest “issue” of T-mag, which may be the worst ever.