matthearn.com

Whoops. I typed this all up last night and then forgot to actually hit submit. Derp.

Unsurprisingly, I’m injured. Surprisingly, I’m not sure why.

My lower back is kind of a mess, and it seems like I strain it every month or so, in levels that range from “back to normal in a couple days” to “unable to deadlift or squat for 6 months,” as happened to me after I hit my 455lb deadlift in September 2013. Usually I can pinpoint exactly when it happens, because I’ll be in the middle of a squat or deadlift and will feel a distinct pop, usually on the right side of my lower spine. Yesterday’s injury, though, I can’t explain; I finished my deadlift workout with no pain other than the usual exhaustion from having lifted several hundred pounds a dozen times. Then at some point later on I noticed my back was a bit achy, and this morning it flat-out hurt. As the day’s worn on it’s loosened up a bit, and I was able to get in a decent half-hour on the stationary bike during lunch.

One thing that I’ve learned when it comes to injuries is that if they’re not debilitating and I can work around them, I should do so. If I started skipping workouts every time my lower back was acting up I would never progress. I anticipate this mild strain being back to mostly normal by Friday, and I’m still planning to squat heavy (though if it starts hurting a bunch as I warm up, I’ll bail out). Chinups and pushups don’t seem to bother it much (I did 7 of each this morning) and even planks are mostly painless; after my bike ride and a brief stretch, I did a full two-minute plank (apparently I can do those if I don’t tire myself out doing chins and pushups first).

Stupid back.

I forgot to weigh myself this morning, which is probably for the best because of all the carbs I ate yesterday; the mirror tells me I’m pretty bloated up, though even in just a week of “non-holiday” diet I believe I’m seeing some slight abdominal definition. That might be a hallucination, of course.

Food today: I had leftover turkey and leek chili for lunch, which was delicious but left me wanting more. Dinner was chicken casserole, with brussels sprouts and eggplant.

Let me tell you a little secret about Norovirus (AKA Norwalk Virus, AKA “The Old Spew and Spray”): it SUUUUUU-UUUUUUCKS.

It’s Josephine’s fault, as you might expect, she being our youngest school-going child. Last Thursday, we’re all watching a spot of TV before bed, when suddenly she stands up and calmly tosses her cookies all over the living room. Luckily, vomiting for a 2-year-old is gentle; it didn’t affect her much at all, aside from the fact that she was somewhat concerned that she couldn’t actually stop. It just kept a-gushing for a few minutes until her stomach was drained of contents.

We got her cleaned up and prepared for a long night, putting a towel down in her crib. Sure enough, she was up about every 30 minutes from 10pm to 2am to blow chunks, although after a while there wasn’t anything to bring up other than foam. After each session, we’d clean her up as best we could, and she’d immediately fall asleep. I stayed home with her the next day, and she rallied pretty quickly, eating some animal crackers and juice and watching hour upon hour of educational programming. We assumed she had food poisoning, or some kind of stomach bug, and planned our usual weekend of cleaning and odd jobs, complicated somewhat by the fact that I had to work on Saturday.

I then spent much of the early hours of Saturday spraying various substances into the toilet. From both ends. Sarah started soon after, followed in the late morning by Charles. At some point in the middle of the night, Josephine produced a poop so substantial that it went all the way up her back, but didn’t wake her. She felt fine by morning (although, as we later discovered, was still quite contagious) and so Grandma and Grandpa were kind enough to come get her and William. Sarah and I went back to bed, occasionally rising to help Charles throw up, finally passing out for good around 8pm and sleeping straight through until roughly 6am Sunday.

I didn’t think I’d be throwing up again, but my throat was raw from all the stomach acid, so I called out of church, and we spent the morning resting some more. Around noon, Sarah retrieved the younger children, and they and Charles and I sat around the rest of the day while my wife, who is a lovely person but whose work ethic outsmarts her at times, worked on cleaning up the house and organizing all our bills and mail. Heaven forfend she actually rest, you see.

Sunday night, Sarah’s parents reported they were sick, and we suspected everyone might still be contagious, so she stayed home with the kids on Monday. William, meanwhile, hasn’t been throwing up, but his fever goes up and down. Luckily he’s eating like a pig, per his usual.

Norovirus sucks. On the other hand, it gave me the opportunity to watch some TV, since I certainly wasn’t getting off the couch, which is how I got to watch the last forty minutes of “Commando,” which I am proud to report is the gayest movie I have ever watched. I loved it.

John Matrix, played by Ahhhhnold, needs to rescue his daughter from the bad guys, who are played by Dan Hedaya (who you may recognize as Alicia Silverstone’s dad in “Clueless”) and, as near as I can tell, Fat Freddie Mercury:

Yes, that picture is signed “I won’t shoot you between the eyes, I’ll shoot you between the balls,” an actual line from the movie.

Arnie has Rae Dawn Chong (who I believe was cast in the mistaken belief that her name was Ray Don Chong by a casting director who never looked at her picture and thought he was getting a nice bear dude to play Arnie’s love interest) fly him to a location off the coast of LA, and he then, clad in nothing but a small pair of purple skivvies, rows to the island where his daughter is being kept. There is then a brief montage of him painting his body and putting on various weapons, and he sets out to slaughter all the bad guys, which he does, finally catching up to Fat Freddie in a basement and engaging him in a shirtless knife fight and eventually IMPALING HIM IN THE CHEST WITH AN 8-FOOT LENGTH OF 4″ STEEL PIPE, which can’t possibly have had any phallic symbolism at all, wink-wink nudge-nudge.

I’m told it’s Rick Santorum’s favorite movie.

I haven’t been sick in almost a year (I attribute this to clean livin’ and sweatin’ to the Oldies, and also making sure I get my weekly ration of medicinal alcohol), but then I get a little sleep-deprived and BOOM I’ve come down with a cold almost instantly. It suuuuuuuuucks. Josephine’s sick too, which has led to her waking up in the middle of the night and refusing to go back to sleep. Last night’s activities:

• 3:30am – William woke up to be fed, and Josephine woke up simultaneously, demanding…well, who knows. She just cried. Mommy got her some water, and I attempted to console her. Got her calmed down, and went back to bed, at which point she started moaning again.


• 4am – She started screaming again, so I went back in to try and calm her. Sarah came in shortly thereafter, and convinced her to lie down and cover up with her blanket. We left, and she immediately started whining again.


• 4:30am – Screaming once again, so I went in, ask her what’s wrong, offer some water, lay her down, but she doesn’t respond well to this so I close the door so maybe the rest of us can get some sleep. She commenced shrilly screaming, but screw it I’m exhausted so I’m going back to bed. I walked back in our bedroom and Sarah said, “Why is she screaming?”

  
  “Because I closed her door.”

  
  “SHE’S SICK, MATT!” Sarah yelled. At that hour, I didn’t see any connection between her being sick and me closing her door so the rest of us could possibly sleep, but I also don’t want Sarah to smother me with a Boppy while I’m sleeping, so I went back in, got Josephine, and sat with her while in the rocking chair.

  
  After 10 minutes or so, she calmed, and crawled out of my arms to stand on the floor. She said something I couldn’t understand, but pointed to the changing table, so I put her on their and changed her diaper, which was dry. When I tried to put her pajama pants back on, she cried “No! No!”

  
  “You don’t want your pajama pants?”

  
  “No!”

  
  “Okay.” She started pulling on her shirt, so I figured “She’s overheated” and pulled that off too. Then she said,

  
  “Thomas shirt!”

  
  She is a HUGE Thomas the Tank Engine fan, and recently was given a couple shirts with Thomas and some of his friends on the front, and wants to wear them at every opportunity. At 5am, actual parenting becomes useless and you do whatever you think will get the child to go back to bed, so I put her Thomas shirt on, and then, at her request, her jeans. I drew the line at socks and shoes, and rocked her a bit more, at which point Sarah came in and took over so I could try and get some sleep.

  
  After 90 minutes of fitful sleep, I showered, and when I came back to the bedroom Sarah was feeding William and Josephine was once again just whining, standing in the doorway.

  
  “Josephine, are you hungry?”

  
  “Mmmm….uh-huh..mmmmmnnnn”

  
  “Stop whining. Let’s go downstairs and get breakfast.” I put my shoes on, and then Josephine did one of her super cute things, which is to simply grab my forefinger and lead me off to the kitchen, where I gave her a cereal bar and some Froot Loops.

  
  I have no idea how much sleep Sarah got, but I think I got 4.5 non-contiguous hours, so if you’re thinking “Wow this post really sucks,” that’d be why. I would like a nap. Forgive the crappiness. I ain’t even gonna proofreed this.

I think I need a doctor. If there are any doctors reading this, I need a prog-/diagnosis. I figure it could be just about anything: heartburn, extreme gas, ulcers, appendicitis, colon cancer, the hiv, etc.

Anyway, my tummy hurts. It’s hurt since early Friday morning, when I awoke many times in agony, writhing around and stealing all of Sarah’s share of the comforter. (Actually, I suppose I could’ve stolen Sarah’s comforter and THEN developed the stomach pain, what with her tendency to beat the crap out of me when she gets cold.)

Friday night I relaxed at home and didn’t eat much. Saturday it felt bad in the morning, but strangely improved as I drank beer and Scotch and ate breakfast, hotdogs, Mexican food, and cookie dough. Sunday it was much better; just a little tender, which meant it only hurt if somebody poked it (which happens fairly often, what with my Pillsbury Doughboy shape).
Today it hurt, but mainly because I was hungry. So I filled with Yu-Shiang pork, and now it hurts even more! Also I have a bitchin’ case of heartburn.

I thought it might be gas, but I took some Gas-X, and that didn’t help. If I burp, it seems to depressurize me for a bit, but it doesn’t last. Also, I haven’t farted in 4 days.

Give it to me straight, Doc. Am I dying? If so, Sarah will be pissed, what with my total lack of life insurance, and my need for a specially designed coffin to contain my mass.

Queries? Problems? Your brain leaking from your nose? I don’t care. Ah, just kidding. Shoot an email to spam(at)matthearn(dot)com.