Posts Tagged ‘pain


The Saturday Post: 9 Jan ‘10

I’m gonna keep this one short and sweet guys, there’s a whole bunch of stuff we need to get sorted today and I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but I’d rather spend the rest of today with my lady than bashing out another epic post.

All the posts this week have actually been pretty epic. Life just seems really full at the moment, I don’t know if you’re feeling it to, but there’s a buzz in the air this year that I swear is so tangible it feels like my skin is sparking with electricity.



Of course, that could also be because I’m tearing through the gym these days like a loose propeller. We’re only 9 days into the year and I’ve already clocked 4 sessions. Admittedly, for the first two I was embarrassingly sweaty and red-faced, but once those were out the way, session 3 and 4 already felt better.

I’m lucky to come from a lean gene pool – there is no history of obesity in either my mom or my dad’s side of the family, and as such, I have the metabolism of a race horse. Of course, given another 4 or 5 years I’m sure this will change, but that doesn’t bother me.

Gym is really funny though. I watch other guys in the gym who go wearing their designer Body In Motion gear with all the latest gym accessories money can buy, run for a bit on the treadmill, do a few sets on the machines and go home without breaking a sweat, and I think to myself, Why bother?

I go in loose fitting faded shirts, brown shorts and old Nike shoes, I do cardio until my heart feels like it’s going to explode, catch my breath, and then hit the machines and free weights, working steadily toward that killer burn you start to feel in your muscles that sends endorphins flooding like a capsized oil tanker into your blood.



And then I go back and do it all over again. I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again, I’m a sucker for punishment.

My goal is 4 sessions a week, every week of this year. If I maintain that and try keep the binge drinking to a minimum, by December I’ll be a fucking MACHINE.

And yes, THEM’S fightin’ words 😉



A Horse With No Name

Maybe you exercise a lot, specifically cardio exercise, or maybe you’re just a person who lives in a lot of pain, I’ve experienced both and what I always found weird about going through a lot of physical pain is that the most random song starts playing in my mind on infinite repeat.

When I woke up from surgery this one time, it was that fucking America song ‘A Horse With No Name’. I swear to god that fucking song played in my mind over and over and over again until I wanted to scream.

For years afterward that song creeped me the fuck out. If I heard it anywhere my eyes would glaze over instantly and I’d be back in high care, grinding my way through it all. It’s not the pain that eats you up, it’s the helplessness.

Now I love that song because it has a special meaning for me. That desert is my desert, that horse with no name, I’ve named it a thousand times.



Isn’t it strange how dearly you learn to love the things that fucked you up the most?




If you had to ask me what are the two things that have gotten me the furthest in my life it would have to be the fact that I am a total sucker for punishment and thankfully, am really bad at dying.

I’ve come close on at least two different occassions where, had circumstances been slightly different, I wouldn’t be writing this post and eating Cheerios for breakfast, I’d be lying in a hole, probably already bones by now. Although to be honest, I’d much prefer if my body was turned into tiny bite-sized cocktail hors d’ouevres and served as a tasty snack at my funeral.


Mmmm... break me off a chunk 'o that

Try the SlickTiger steak tartar, it's nom


People would be like, ‘My these tiny bite-sized cocktail hors d’ouevres are delicious, what are they?’ and the people in the know, who wouldn’t be going anywhere near them would say, ‘Slick Tiger. That’s how he wanted to go. This way a little piece of him will live inside us all.’

At which point the funeral would probably turn into a vomitorium, but I digress.

I think I’m a sucker for punishment becuse of what I experienced when I woke up from the first operation. In that moment, as my mind waded slowly and painfully through the depths of the general anaesthetic they’d given me, I had no idea where I was, how I got there, why I was there, and most importantly, who the fuck I was.

There was just pain. Bone splintering pain, the kind that aches right down to your core and washes over you in colossal and sickening waves. In that moment I was pain. My identity was completely erased, I remember trying to reach back for something, some kind of clue as to why I had woken up in that hell, but there was nothing there.

I remember swearing. I remember the tiled ceiling. One of the nurses wheeling my bed said, ‘Ok, he’s definitely awake now’ and not long after that they put me under again. In total it couldn’t have been longer than three minutes. Amazing how three minutes can change your entire life.

And now I sit here, nearly eight years later, stronger in every imaginable way. I train as often as I can, I sweat blood and I eat weights and when I wake up the next day, my muscles sore and stiff, I feel satisfied and I feel closer to that person who woke up so many years ago, pure as a screaming newborn.


Welcome to life buddy, all the screaming in the world can't save you now

Welcome to life little buddy, all the screaming in the world can't save you now


You gotta wake up at least two or three days a week feeling like you’ve been in a fight, cause life is a fight. The moment you lie down and accept your fate is the moment you stop living and start dying.

People spend their lives running away from pain and toward comfort and security, well I say fuck that, I say run toward pain, because the most incredible thing about our species is we think we know our limits, but every wall we’ve ever encountered we’ve found a way to bulldoze, and those people, the ones doing the bulldozing, they don’t give a fuck about pain or suffering or defeat or humiliation or fear.

They’re suckers for punishment, because when you’ve got nothing left to lose, you’ve got everything to gain.



J-Rab Takes a Spill

Today was a bit of a suck-ass day, J-Rab called me at about lunchtime in tears cause she took a bad fall at work and her elbow was all chewed up, so I jumped in the Red Baron and missioned off to save her.

Now she’s lying comatose in bed, they shot her full of Tramel, which is pretty strong stuff and I was jealous as hell.

Usually it’s me lying there, getting shot full of all manner of tranqs, muscle relaxants, anti-inflamatories and pain killers.

I’m a little accident prone. To put it lightly.


Skydiving - easier with a parachute

Skydiving - easier with a parachute (this isn't me in case you were wondering, just a random injured dude I found on the internet)


More than once I’ve stood in the wreckage around me, wondering how the fuck I’m still alive, praying to god that everyone else is too.

I’m a bit of a cynical fucker when it comes to god though. The only god I could ever believe in would be the ‘Deus Absconditis’ – the god who left, absconded from his throne.

He loaded the dice and left the game.


This painting was done moments before God left his creation to go fishing

Moments later God left His creation to go fishing


Girls are gentle and delicate creatures. I always used to say to J-Rab she had bird’s bones, tiny and intricate and she would laugh and protest that she had normal bones like anyone.

Thing is, while we were waiting for her x-rays to be read today, I snuck out into the passage and found the doctor who was treating her staring at a PC screen with high-res pics of J-Rab’s x-rays.

I definitely nailed it all those years back. She does have little bird bones, I saw them.

It was really funny cause the doc looking at the x-rays was talking on her cell phone and not really paying attention to what was going on and the minute I saw J-Rab’s x-rayed arm I practically shouted, “HAH! BIRD BONES! I KNEW IT!”


J-Rab's X-Ray. I was right all along!

J-Rab's X-Ray. I was right all along!


The doc stared at me like I was nuts. I wish I could say that was the first time, but doctors have stared at me like that more times than I care to count.

Especially on the day I took the biggest and best shit of my life, but that’s not really a topic I care to discuss right now, if you’re really interested maybe I’ll dedicate a post to it another time, your call. Stop looking at me like that.

So now I’m making supper, checking my mails and listening to the new Pearl Jam album. I might review it this weekend, doesn’t sound too bad, so far it’s an improvement on their last self-titled album, pretty stoked about that.

Better get back to my steak, it ain’t gonna cook itself 😉


A Word From The Kind Folks At Nokia

December 2019
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