Everyone keeps asking me what forearms like catfish look like. Well, let me tell you a little story, as I remember it.
When I was a tween or so, my dad, my brother and I often went fishing with my grandpa when we were in town. One of those trips took us to the bank of a river. I remember grandpa fishing from the ground, leaning back against a rock with his failing legs stretched out in front of him. He hooked something in the river and reeled it up -- a catfish no longer than a foot. It looked like a dinky thing to me given how big catfish can get, but he pulled it off the hook and held it in his fist for a second. "Nice fish," he said, and then lobbed it back into the water like a football.
I don't think anyone else there remembers that catch, but I do because I wondered how the catfish must've felt in grandpa's hand -- all those muscles in their exact design with their exact duties, all that tissue existing only for a present-moment purpose, the cylinder fish alien against all my bluegill hauls... Apparently I've been thinking about that fish for almost twenty years because when I wrap my fist around Catfish's forearm, I think of grandpa's catch.
Granted, perspective is in his arm's favor here. Popeye! But he IS in the process of working up to doing a pull-up with me hanging on him. He says by April 1, but we'll see.
I've worked up to 2 chin-ups -- palms facing in. 1.5 pull-ups, palms away. My goal is to do more chin-ups than Linda Hamilton does in Terminator 2.
While I'm photo sharing -- here's a coffee mug we got in at work the other day:
Apparently my mind's always in the wrong place, but when I gave my co-workers a second to think about it they saw it too. Dante (aka The Danté!) asked to pose with the cup:
If anyone wants this cup I will snag it for you. I wanted to gift it to someone who would appreciate it because I find it so special but I figure it deserves a few trips around the restaurant before moving forward to a private collection.