|July 2014 -- injury, followed by a long period of not training very seriously|
Two years ago I went to Vietnam. As is the trend, I had some clothes made. One bespoke suit and six business shirts made to measure, plus a pair of shoes. There were a couple of fittings where the tailors fussed over me and made sure everything was brought in and let out in all the right places to make them snug.
One year ago I joined the gym and started training.
Last week my shirt didn't fit. They'd always been tight, made as they were to my exact measurements and, I think, not pre-shrunk. But last Monday it was obvious. Uncomfortable. And not in the immediately confidence-building "hey, my pecs are too big for my shirt" way. And not in the immediately soul-destroying "my gut is busting my buttons" way either. That middle third, the solar plexus, where you normally start showing ripples of a developing six-pack. That's where I bulge.
|My new bulge, courtesy of Wikipedia|