Batwings: A Memoir

Janeane Garofalo once famously opined that there are two types of women in the world -- those with visible biceps, and those with matronly upper arms. So true, Janeane, so true.

When I was a little girl, I was a gymnast and definitely had the visible biceps. I could lift myself to a handstand from a fully seated position on the balance beam and held the second place record for rope climb in gym class (insert Wayne's World reference here). However, as I succumbed to angsty teenage malaise and suburban drudgery I gave up all athletic endeavors for the less physically demanding hobbies of dyeing my hair odd colors, brooding and writing bad poetry. And that was when I developed the Batwings -- the jiggly flesh where my triceps once had been.

These days, when my fitness is on my mind and I've begun to really test the limits of my discipline, I mourn the loss of my visible biceps. Whenever I watch Terminator 2 (which I do from time to time, because it's AWESOME), I stare in slack-jawed envy at Linda Hamilton's amazing upper body strength.

I mean LOOK AT THAT!

But before I tip my bed over and start doing chin-ups, maybe I should take a more sensible approach to reclaiming my upper body strength. Just have some discipline. If I can make myself run and train the way I have been lately, why I am so lazy when it comes to other things? Why can't I wake up and do some push-ups or lift the weights that have been collecting dust in my living room? In my commitment to running why can't I have an addendum with just an overall commitment to my strength? It's all towards the same goal in the end, right?

I want Sarah Connor arms, dammit. I want my visible biceps back!

"Hello, Dr. Silberman... How's the knee?"