I’m not sure where to start. First, I feel like shit. I just needed to put that out there. I guess I’ll start with my background and then explain what happened and where it left me.
I recently turned twenty one years old, and after four years of hard training under Thibadeau, Waterbury, and Polliquin training I felt like I was really getting somewhere. I’ve been seriously bulking for the past year and a half and put on some serious mass over the summer.
I packed three sandwiches for work a day, cooked myself breakfast and lunch there, ate immediately after and, well, my life revolved around eating. I got up to 225 at 6’0. My states were a 450 pound deadlift, a 290 pound flat bench, almost twenty straight chin-ups, etc.
I finally was getting the look I wanted: traps that bulged through my t-shirt, a thick, prominent chest, very thick quads and hamstrings in the making. I was wider and thicker than I ever was. My girlfriend loved it, I loved it, and fellow gym rates noticed my gains.
I was dedicated; it was a large part of my life and even at the miss of one gym day I felt “lazy” and “weak.” I foresaw cutting in about nine months; I was finally going to achieve a solid, cut physique. My girlfriend was always complimenting me on how good I looked naked, and no guys I’m not trying to toot my own horn or sound shallow, I’m just giving you an idea of the esteem lifting gave me and some of the unforseen benefits.
I lifted for strength, for size, and it resulted in a strong presence. People always noticed I had a certain presence wherever I was. I don’t know if this was due to my size, but I know some of it can be attributed to my personality.
That said two weeks ago from today I was injured in a rugby game. One guy went in for a high-tackle, slowing me down, while another went straight for a tackle just below my knees. I heard a snap that sounded like a gun-shot; everyone heard it.
I looked down to see the bottom half of my shin limp, dangling from my upper calf, but no puncture. My foot was facing the wrong way, completely left. I went to stand on it and fell down; I started screaming for Mother Theresa. I had broken my fibula in two places and my tibula in one.
Now, I lay on a couch all day, almost completely immobile. I went from deadlifting to doing Jane Fonda like exercises. I can barely make it to my car on crutches and I can feel my muscle atrophying and whithering away. I’m now pale as fuck, in need of a haircut, and without my passion.
I expressed my sentiment about lifting to my girlfriend and she replied “well, at least it payed off temporarily.” Fuck that. Is there a bright side? Can I get my strength back? Can I be stronger than I was? Be honest.
Lastly, since my appetite has decreased to that of a pidgeons and depression is setting in, when I lose weight will it be both fat and muscle? Will the loss make me look just skinny and rounded, like someone who never lifted a weight, or will my muscle that I had beneath some excess fat start to show through, as if I were cutting?
Someone please help, I need some motivation, but be honest.