All Show, No Go

This week, a friend told me that I should try-out for "American Ninja Warrior". In her words, "it's almost all arm work and we know you've got some guns." I'm not exactly sure what American Ninja Warrior is - I don't watch much TV and what I do watch isn't reality-based (unless you include "Law & Order, SVU") - but I'm imagining something close to American Gladiators, circa the 1980s, except maybe (hopefully) without the cheesy costumes. In reality, it doesn't matter what it is. I am more than likely the weakest strong-looking person on the face of the planet. In other words, these guns? They're all show.

First of all, it'll help if you stop imagining The Rock's biceps on my body. Arguably, my friend isn't wrong. I've got "guns". Not bazookas or AKs. Let's be real. Mine are more like a couple ladies' model Saturday night specials. Petite, well proportioned, and easily stashed away in a small purse. Mine just also happen to be unloaded with rusted action. Museum pieces. 

That's not to say that my arms don't look good. Some say they are a little much for a woman, i.e. not feminine. Whatev. They're toned and well defined (What if they were even more muscular than that? Maybe it's time we redefined "feminine" but that's just me...). How did I get them? I dunno. Many years ago, after seeing "Terminator 2" I wished a wish. I wanted Linda Hamilton's arms. I didn't get them, but I got close. Sort of. I mean they kind of come and go depending on what I'm doing with them. I've worked hard for years - lifted weights, pushed up, pulled up, survived The Break Up Diet several times, stocked freight, played decades of tennis. Once up on a time, I was known as "the girl with the arms", now years later, I'm still pretty proud of them. 

Admittedly, it would be nice if they worked a little better. Ok, a lot better. The entire right side of my upper body is nearly useless (my left side is woefully uncoordinated so it doesn't count). I have a partially torn something in my right elbow which means I'm in a never-ending simultaneous battle with both golfer's and tennis elbow. Meanwhile, my right shoulder is completely fucked. There are days I can't raise my hand above my head and/or draw my arm back to hit a forehand. Yes, I've been to the ortho doc and had hours of PT. No, I'm not going to spend my life savings just so I don't have to wear two braces on my elbow when I play tennis. At this point, the silly string and rusty paper clips seem to be holding (knock on wood...) and my arms look good so I'm content enough.

Of course (because I'm a complete idiot), I signed up do a Tough Mudder (think an amateur version of American Ninja Warrior...with mud) in May. I've never done one and people like me (i.e. competitive fitness asshats) need to do at least one. Yes, I said need. I have zero desire to roll around in the mud, run through live electrical wires, and dive into a pool of icy water, but there are just some things you have to have on your fitness resume for it to be considered complete. I'll probably tear my ACL after dropping a dozen feet from monkey bars into a vat of mud when the tendons in my elbow finally shred themselves. Pretty sure I should have told my teammates that I'm way more show than go. Meh. At least I'll look good at the starting line.

So, yeah... Sorry, Tonya, I'm never going to be an American Ninja Warrior. Hell, I may not even survive the Tough Mudder or my next tennis league.  I should probably stick with running. My legs may not be much to look at but they are all go. At least for now. Knock on wood.