June hasn’t been off to a good start. Last week at work, while I got on my tiptoes trying to rehang the air blow gun on its hook and missed, the hose recoiled, pistol-whipping me in the forehead, leaving me with a zit-like welt. Worse yet, the joints in my right wrist and left index finger had randomly become inflamed, causing me to wince every time I used the spray bottle, like this:
Only 42 years old, and this is already my reality?
Outside of work, my fitness age, as determined by Garmin, continues to decrease. The expectations put forth by Garmin, however, remain lofty. After three months, my estimated VO2 Max has stabilized. Theoretically, at this point, the prescribed workouts should be hard as fuck, yet doable. This VO2 Max workout seemed to be pushing it, though:
