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I went to my first practice last year, pulling with a bunch of strangers on a balcony in West Hollywood as sun sank into the Pacific. Los Angeles takes on a surreal chemical burn color at sunset. As soon as I put my elbow on the table the next two hours disappeared. Getting my ass handed to me had never been so fun.
But when I woke up my elbows ached like nothing I’d ever felt before.The boys on the balcony had just initiated in the “tendon sport”—a phrase that took on new and agonizing meaning for me. The barrier to entry for the sport boils down to one thing: pain.
I was pissed.
And I was hooked.
I spent the next week out in Texas taking care of my father after his hip surgery. The entire stay I obsessed about how to make the pain die down. Not because it felt uncomfortable, though it did. But because I wanted to get back on the table as soon as a could.
Practices were sporadic until I moved back to Chicago, the “city on the make” as Nelson Algren called it. Corrupt, big shouldered, the windy city has more arm wrestlers and now we practice at my place. I’ve reorganized all of my training to focus on the sport and I spent most of my free time watching it or thinking about it. And because I’m a writer, that means that I feel compelled to write about it.
So, if you’re interested in the game of arms, subscribe. I promise no regular output, but I can promise you a look into a neglected sport that I believe should be way bigger in the states.
If you’re doubtful, sign up and see if I can’t convince you.