I got a call late yesterday afternoon from a close and dearly beloved friend, "asking" (read: tacit pleading) if I wanted to make some money, and if I could be up at 5am that morning (today). His job is deep fryer cleaning and oil management. Heading into the weekend. (read: A Nightmare.) My job was solely to be his lifting arm for the day. Half the crew are sick/out, and the remaining lot are in various states of shambles; the dear friend calling was in several states of physical injury that would greatly be exacerbated by his work.
This is on the close tail of having helped move two fridges, two washing machines, a three-seater powered couch and two powered recliners, and a chest of drawers, almost entirely by my own hand, a few days prior. I was, in essence, the Last Ditch Effort; the Hail Mary. For his crew, was about to be The First Light of the Fifth Day; Dawn was fast approaching, and he was Looking East.
Of course I said yes. But not (solely) because of the pay. Or helping a friend. Or being able to claim another type of an "Honest Day's Work". These were great things, and I have claimed them.
But really, I jumped at the chance because I was craving that resistance training exercise high. I was having withdrawals for DOMS. o__o
Moving that furniture earlier this week got me intoxicatingly pumped, and I was only just getting over the leg soreness yesterday, so I was almost through it all and back to feeling average. But now? It's baaaaack. I feel like a freight train. My back feels genuinely good. The post-lift swell is so much that my shirt sleeves are tight, and that's fucking wild to me, cuz I'm a chubby baggy-shirt kinda guy. I haven't been able to drag my weights out of the shed yet (can't reach them, car's in the way; can't move the car w/o filling the leaking radiator, etc) so I can't keep up that burn easily right now, and I realised that this would literally be perfect for it, among all the other good reasons.
And it was. I'm home, I'm sore, but it's good sore.
Worth it.
