My whole life I’ve been told that muscles have memory. If a person repeats motions over and over again, the muscles ‘remember’ and perform the task more efficiently and almost automatically.
My sister Liz and I worked out at the gym regularly from the ages of 17 to about 22 and after she moved away, I joined my college soccer team where I ran tough drills on a twice daily basis. Once my soccer days were over – cough – I mean, once my bench warming days were over, I moved to LA and continued working out for a hour a day 4 – 5 days a week.
I was in college, I had to look good in my swimsuit for hot tubbing… Havasu River trips and… Vegas.
To be honest, I’ve taken a year or two off… or three or four… from working out but according to this muscle memory garbage, I should be good to go.
I’ve been working out for three weeks now and the only things my muscles seem to be remembering are my collegiate daily pizza runs and my affinity for Burger King crispy chicken sandwiches dipped in Ranch dressing.
In an effort to get my amnesia ridden muscles back with the program, I’ve been going for some power walks with the occasional *gasp* jog uphill.
My muscles have been remembering little things like…
if I workout that hard, I can’t walk the next day.
I won’t go on a walk unless someone is at the house to notice I’m missing before my murdered body starts to decompose. A couple days ago, I asked my new roomie Zach and his girlfriend Beth to come out and look for me if I were gone for more than an hour and a half.
I returned to the house an hour and 15 minutes later sweaty, stinky, and wore out. They greeted me with statements like:
‘Wow! That’s dedication!’ and ‘What a work out!’
I didn’t have the heart to tell them that I was neither dedicated nor was I trying for a good work out…
But thanks to a large neighborhood of identical tract homes…
I simply got lost and it took me 40 minutes to find my way back.