Biceps & Mosquito bites

I'm 50 years old now and work out fairly regularly with modest results. Turns out that I'm that body type, the type that just can't bulk. But we can get into a sort of good shape, flat bellies and lean cut albeit smaller muscles. So work out I do. Rather enjoy it actually. But I can't lift a dumb bell or press a machine without my mind racing back 22 years to a time when I first attempted something like muscles.

I was a young energetic dad with a renewed desire to bulk up some, that being 2 years old daughter that would eventually grow up and have boyfriends who would desperately need their butts kicked. I hit the gym everyday, ate as much bulking foods as I could and jogged every night. And after a about three months, a miracle happened, the faintest bulge of a muscle offered the slightest bit of resistance while putting on a shirt. I raced to button up the shirt then roll up my sleeves (they look bigger that way) and slowly flexed my biceps. There it was, if you looked at just the right angle, a bulging bicep. Arnold, only an actor in 1988, was still safe. The muscle wasn't tearing the shirt, but it was a bulge just the same. I moved about in the small hallway between my bedroom and my daughter's trying to catch just the right shadow to enhance the marvelous sight. Relax, flex, relax, flex. Yep it was an authentic, gym made bona fide bicep. "Look Erica", I said proudly, "look at dad's muscle." Erica toddled closer wearing pullups and tiny T-shirt and said sympathetically "Ahh, skitter bite you?", kissed my flexed bicep, rubbed it with her tiny little hand and asked, "Better?", then toddled off to play.