A few days after I’ve done something stupid, I often think, “I feel a blog post coming on.” If I’ve done something exceptionally stupid, it takes a week before I feel it. Well, at the time of this writing, it’s been two and a half weeks.

It started when I noticed that my arms hurt. Just the upper arms, both of them. Seemed a bit weird but I ignored it. The left arm started to hurt more. Then the pain crept up to the shoulder. That left arm became weak. I couldn’t pick up a full mug of tea with any confidence that I could get it to my mouth before I spilled it. Pain radiated down my arm and when I palpated, I could find tender spots around the shoulder joints.

My first thought was to hope it would go away. It got worse. I started to worry. Wheels turning in the middle of the night accelerated: Rotator cuff? What exactly is a rotator cuff? God, that means surgery. One of the Covid symptoms is muscle pain. Oh god, I have Covid of the arm. Or if it is the rotator cuff, I’ll need surgery and when I’m in the hospital, I’ll get Covid. What is MS ? Could this be how it starts? The m is for muscular, d is for dystrophy. Is that anything like atrophy? Oh god what is happening to me? I need to wash these sheets but I won’t be able to make the bed because I have Covid and/or atrophy of the shoulder. It’s already been two weeks. Can a person not in college go three weeks without washing sheets and live?

The next day I took or dissolved or creamed or drank everything in the house that I thought might help. I binged on a ten-hour TV series and spent a day not moving. By the time I went to bed I was feeling sloshy and sluggish but in less pain. So whatever dreadful thing I had, it seemed treatable.

The next day I traced back what I might have done to myself and the dial stopped on my friend Andrea. Andrea is this tiny little thing who lifts weights. During one of our Zoom cocktail parties, she told me about Joyce L Vedral’s 12 minutes-a day work out. She made it sound easy, even inviting and best of all, short. I ordered the book and fished around for some weights that I knew I had because they were too much trouble to take to Goodwill, being heavy and all.

The book came. It was huge and therefore hard to misplace. I boldly set out to do Day #1. I had to learn what the author meant by isometric and dynamic. By the time I felt I understood that, I had lost interest in doing any exercises. So that was my Day #1 workout.

The next day I tried to isolate some muscles as per the instructions. I texted Andrea “I don’t think I actually have pecs.” Andrea said to start with biceps because they were easier to isolate.

I gave up doing the day’s workout and found a single exercise that worked the biceps. I went through the motions without weights. Then I tried it with what I assumed were 3-lb weights. They weren’t marked; they just weighed less than ones that were marked as 5-lb weights. At this point I had to laugh at the idea of doing repetitions. Do two repetitions of 10. I did two lifts. Not repetitions, just lifts. The truth is I shouldn’t have been using weights at all. Cans of soup. Not even soup, tuna fish. No, pencils.

This was when my arms started hurting. I tried a few more days of isolating and going through the motions of the exercises, culminating in two more lifts a day. Then I nearly dropped hot tea all over me because my arm couldn’t hold up the hand that the mug was in, bringing this narrative back to where I was curled up for ten hours watching a Swedish TV political thriller called “Blue Eyes.” Now I was spilling tea on myself because I tried to hold the warm mug on a shoulder joint. Kind of pitiful, really.

There’s a medieval torture called strappado. The victim’s wrists were tied behind her. She was then strung up by the wrists where she hung until the weight of her body pulled her arms out of the shoulder sockets. I respect how much that must have hurt. Joyce L Vedral ought to mention it in her book.

I ordered a shoulder brace. It was as complicated as trying to isolate a muscle and lift a weight. I thought about taking it to my neighbor Gwen’s house. She can figure out anything. But I would have to put on shoes. I could go across the street to my neighbor Bill’s house. His 20-something son is home right now and I knew they’d help me. But I’d have to put on shoes and a bra.

Eventually I got it on me and it helped to keep the shoulder stabilized. Then there was no excuse to not launder the sheets. I spent The Day of the Coup taking down the Christmas tree. Seemed fitting.

In talking with my friends, I have come to the conclusion that I am the only one in my circle who has never before lifted weights. They all must have mighty pecs. I’m just an artiste.