I hate New Year's resolutions now. I used to like the idea of having a goal for the year, only to piss away any chance of reaching that goal within a couple of weeks. It made me feel very motivated, for exactly those two weeks. But starting in 2009, I wasn't going to do that sort of thing anymore. Instead, I was content to live with my mediocre expectations year-in and year-out.
Weirdly though, this year Jordan's new apartment lease happened to start the first of year, and coincidentally the apartment complex opened up a kick-ass new gym right there on the grounds within a week of his move-in. Thus, I have inadvertently wandered into a kept-resolution-type scenario, insofar as I have been going to the gym regularly for two months now starting January 1. It probably only counts as the Alanis-Non-Irony kind of justice, but I like it anyways.
Spoons when you want a knife :: keeping a resolution only after disavowing them forever.
I should write a song.
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Last week Jordan was feeling under the weather, so I ended up going to the gym alone on Monday. I've taken a new approach to gym-work this time, focusing on running and similar cardiovascular things instead of weight lifting. Mostly because lately I've been really worried that when the zombie apocalypse comes, I will be way too far out of shape to outrun the mindless hordes of brain devourers. And everyone knows that muscles don't do any good against a screaming army of the undead. The only real hope is to escape - something that my easily-winded-by-a-short-staircase self would be unable to accomplish.
So running it is.
Usually I hate it, but I've slowly been getting better, at least to the point where I no longer want to projectile vomit after every 30 minute session. I started at 2 miles, then upped it to 2.5 after a month, and on Monday I was shooting for the full 3 miles, only mildly worried that my heart might explode right there in front of the scary yoga lady and her even scarier devotees.
I made it through both of the first two miles relatively easily, spurred on by my excellent iPod Zombie Escaping Playlist(TM). The third mile was by far the hardest, and I was starting to seriously drag. Not even mind-conjured images of 26 Days Later were helping. By that point the yoga class had dispersed, it was only me, one girl on a treadmill, and a guy in the weight lifting area left in the gym.
To understand what follows, you have to understand that I really hate running. Really. The only way I can convincingly keep myself going when I'm tired is to sync in with the music I'm listening to and focus on a fixed point in the mid-distance. A proper mix-tape (such as my ZEP) will be properly calibrated to pick the most likely point of exhaustion (minute 22) as the time to start rising - faster songs, louder, more bass, a good drum set, and I can usually power through to the end. The only side-effect to this is that I might sometimes get a little too into the music.
Not like singing along (I avoid at least that much), but I may swing my arms more forcefully to the beat, or do a little swaying/head bobbing along with the running. It probably looks a little weird (and gives off the impression that I may at any point collapse and/or fall off the moving treadmill) but it works.
Except in this particular instance, I was sweating so profusely that I had to set my iPod up on the treadmill display, cannily thinking that it might slip from my overly-slick hand mid-run, causing disaster and loss of being in the Music/Running Zone.
Item that I did not consider: Placing the iPod on the display left a conspicuous and intrusive white cord from my ears down to the treadmill. And in my Zoning, I overly emphasized the shooting part of M.I.A's Paper Planes with my arms, and swung right through the cord.
From what I can work out (CSI-style in my mind), the recreation of the physics worked thusly: My left arm swung down, yanking the cord to the iPod with it. The earbuds, being far more secured than the iPod itself, held in place. So instead the iPod was pulled down with the cord - only when it reached the edge of the display it popped upwards before it's eventual downward fall. At which point it disconnected from the headphones entirely, shot out projectile-like over my shoulder, behind me, across the gym, and then skidded to a stop at the feet of the guy over in the weights area.
This whole scenario took approximately 1.2 seconds, plus skidding time.
In reaction I glance back and forth like a dog shaking water off its head, trying to figure out what the hell just happened. I finally twist my head all the way around and see the big muscle-bound guy with his head cocked and staring at the strange tiny red device in front of him with a confused look on his face. I lose my balance on the treadmill and manage to artfully twist my left ankle before recovering an eighth of my dignity by not face-planting right then and there. I extract myself from the machine, and sheepishly go collect my iPod from the mildly amused but still confused guy, apologizing like mad and trying not to fall over dead from exhaustion/embarrassment.
Both he and the girl on the other treadmill eye me warily as I walk back to my machine, both still unsure as to why I seemingly threw my iPod across the room at him. Rather than attempt an explanation (I've learned that it never goes well) I just apologized again and tried to finish up the end of my run, limping like a crazy man. I abandoned the attempt after a couple minutes, and bolted from the room, never to return.
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Actually I still go back (it's a really nice gym). But now whenever I walk in, I'm perpetually terrified that either of them will be there and soon the whispering and pointing will begin. Hushed words about 'iPod throwers' will swirl around me and I'll need to run away, possibly crying, and deciding the change my name and appearance.
But so far that hasn't happened. And now I've switched over to the elliptical machines, which don't hurt my ankle and more importantly keep my hands occupied at all times, so everyone can see that I won't be throwing any musical devices anytime soon.
That way everyone wins.
Showing posts with label exercise. Show all posts
Showing posts with label exercise. Show all posts
Tuesday, March 03, 2009
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Counting Down From 100
Apropos to the height of summer (when you're most likely to find yourself outdoors without a shirt on) I had been looking for a new exercise program that I could get into without killing myself, and/or incurring the cost of a gym membership.
I was ready to despair and start pricing out exactly how many years of debt I would accrue by signing up with various local gyms, until I ran across this lovely website, One Hundred Push Ups. It completes me in every exercisable way possible.
It has the benefits of exercising without, y'know, actually exercising longer than 10 minutes every other day. Which is pretty sweet. And it's gotten me to the point where I feel like I can move on to a full-on exercise program without potentially dying halfway through.
I completely forget what the point of this post was at this point, so I guess this is just a shill post: Go exercise. And if you're like me and don't want to, just do this thing. It's easy and awesome.
(Side note: still not going outdoors without my shirt on, though. People around The Village are way too attractive. Bums me out. Also, still wildly pale as they haven't fixed the pool in my complex yet. Maybe next summer.)
I was ready to despair and start pricing out exactly how many years of debt I would accrue by signing up with various local gyms, until I ran across this lovely website, One Hundred Push Ups. It completes me in every exercisable way possible.
- Takes almost no time whatsoever
- Can be done in the privacy of your own bedroom
- Is simple to do
- Has measurable results that are quick and easily recognizable
- Did I mention that it takes practically no time at all?
It has the benefits of exercising without, y'know, actually exercising longer than 10 minutes every other day. Which is pretty sweet. And it's gotten me to the point where I feel like I can move on to a full-on exercise program without potentially dying halfway through.
I completely forget what the point of this post was at this point, so I guess this is just a shill post: Go exercise. And if you're like me and don't want to, just do this thing. It's easy and awesome.
(Side note: still not going outdoors without my shirt on, though. People around The Village are way too attractive. Bums me out. Also, still wildly pale as they haven't fixed the pool in my complex yet. Maybe next summer.)
Monday, June 30, 2008
No Good, Terrible, Bad Days
I was in the worst mood.
I had just spent 9 completely unproductive hours in the office and all I had to show for it were three new paper cuts, 2 new bills that I hadn't realized would be due, and a splitting headache to boot.
When I got home and found my apartment smelling terrible due to a lack of kitchen cleaning, I was about ready to lose it. But I was feeling just put-upon enough that my righteous indignation carried me all the way through a really thorough cleaning of the whole apartment.
Afterward I was still in a funk and riding that same wave of adrenaline, so I decided to work out too. I ran through a Tae bo routine (because I live at least 8 years behind the rest of the world at all times) and then powered through a whole bunch of weightlifting until I was just completely exhausted, and just about dripping with sweat.
Finally I sort of felt my anger at the day melting away. All I wanted to do was crash and watch the last new movie I had from Blockbuster - The Assassination Jesse James Blah Blah Etc and Whatnot. I figured if there was ever going to be a time when I was willing to sit through a 3 hour period drama about the Old West, it would be right then - when I could barely raise an arm, let alone turn get off the couch and turn off a DVD player in disgust.
Except that, once I had toweled off the majority of my sweat and grabbed the DVD envelope, it turned out that they had sent me the wrong disc. Instead of The Assassination of Brad Pitt by One of those Affleck Boys, I had Disc Two of Ellen DeGeneres Here and Now.
Man, I was so steamed. Not that I really have anything against Ellen, but still, when you're expecting hot guys in cowboy hats and you get a lesbian doing stand-up, it's a tough blow to roll with. Really, it was just the whole day and that was the last straw. But I think I was still really pumped up on all the testosterone from the workout, because rather than just collapsing on the couch for a good cry (as my normal response would be) without thinking, I gathered up all my DVD's and bolted for my car to Blockbuster. I was going to find something there that I really wanted to watch and somehow salvage this terrible day.
---------
I entered Blockbuster with an air of restrained fury and was determined to find a movie and get out in under 10 minutes. When the guy at the checkout counter faltered in the middle of his routine greeting, I probably should have realized things would never be that smooth:
"Hi! Welcome to Blo-*ahem*"
Instead I assumed that maybe my withering glance in his direction had shocked him into silence. About 3 minutes later, though, I caught a quick glance of myself in the reflection of a window, and understood that it was probably my appearance that had shut him up. It also explained the little twitch of a laughing smile he repressed too.
Because in my mini-fury, I had forgotten that I was still in my workout outfit - super small black running shorts, XXXL muscle tee that hung off my shoulders so far that it revealed better than half my chest, and my hair standing straight into the air about 10 inches, from being held back in a headband for an hour.
Whatever. I didn't care, I've got a fine self body image, and I made peace with my hair months ago. I grab my movie (The Descent - I want to see some cave-dwelling monsters get their skulls crushed in. Still very full of testosterone.) and get in line. There were only two other people ahead of me, and they were both high school girls. At first they were giggling and messing around with the various impulse items in the line. As I came up in line they fell into a hushed series of whispers. I tried to tune out as much of their antics as possible, and focused on the rack of candy to my side.
Just visualizing getting home, watching some mindless horror, and putting this horrible day behind me--
"Hey," says Girl #1. They've both turned to stare at me.
"Uh, me?" I look up from the bag of Pixi Sticks I am reading and trying to talk myself out of buying and look around to make sure I'm not blocking someone they know.
"Yeah, you," she saids giggling, punctuating her 'you' with an index finger to my shoulder.
("Is she picking a fight with me?" I start to wonder.)
"What's your name?" She cocks her head to one side and just her hip to the opposing side.
"Uh, Jason." I start praying in my head that this is not going where I think it's going.
"Oh, cool. Jaaason." She draws my name out and smiles. Maybe she's just drunk. Or high.
"I'm Brie. This is Candice. What'cha renting? The Descent? That looks scary. I really like scary movies. But only if I have someone to hold on to." By the end of this rambling line of thought, she's officially moved into my personal space.
"Ahh, I see," I murmur as quietly as possible, narrowing my eyes and attempting to back up, only then realizing that I had already backed up as far as possible and was pressing by back into the candy rack.
I dart my eyes over to the friend, to see if I can find some hint about what's going on here. Is this an elaborate dare? She's got this appraising look going on, and I suddenly really wish that I had more of a shirt on than I do right at this exact moment. High school girls are not this aggressive, right?
"So, are you here by yourself? Is this your first week off from school too?"
It doesn't matter that I'm still completely sort of pissed off from this day, or that I'm basically half naked and covered in sweat in a Blockbuster - I completely just bust out laughing. I don't mean to, but seriously. Like, uncontrollable laughter, from deep within. The two girls stop and look at each other a little puzzled, but don't join in. I realize right then that they might have actually been serious, but I cannot stop laughing. Luckily, almost simultaneous with my inappropriate bout of laughter the guy up front calls for the next person in line.
The girls tell me to go ahead, since they're still waiting for another friend of theirs, starting to look at me a little funny. I get it down to a mild chuckle and tell them thanks, and that it was nice to meet them.
The checkout guy can obviously tell something strange is going on, but he's not going to get involved.
As I head out the main door, my principle interrogator calls out "Bye Jason!"
Determined not to bust out laughing, I turn and wave goodbye. As creepy as it was, I suppose one should still take it as a compliment.
And turning back to leave, I manage to misjudge how far the door will open and slam half my body against the frame. And then - reaching back to steady myself from falling - I crunch the little finger on my right hand against the other door handle.
Not daring to look back I virtually sprint back to my car and vow to never leave the house ever again.
Worst. Day. Ever.
I had just spent 9 completely unproductive hours in the office and all I had to show for it were three new paper cuts, 2 new bills that I hadn't realized would be due, and a splitting headache to boot.
When I got home and found my apartment smelling terrible due to a lack of kitchen cleaning, I was about ready to lose it. But I was feeling just put-upon enough that my righteous indignation carried me all the way through a really thorough cleaning of the whole apartment.
Afterward I was still in a funk and riding that same wave of adrenaline, so I decided to work out too. I ran through a Tae bo routine (because I live at least 8 years behind the rest of the world at all times) and then powered through a whole bunch of weightlifting until I was just completely exhausted, and just about dripping with sweat.
Finally I sort of felt my anger at the day melting away. All I wanted to do was crash and watch the last new movie I had from Blockbuster - The Assassination Jesse James Blah Blah Etc and Whatnot. I figured if there was ever going to be a time when I was willing to sit through a 3 hour period drama about the Old West, it would be right then - when I could barely raise an arm, let alone turn get off the couch and turn off a DVD player in disgust.
Except that, once I had toweled off the majority of my sweat and grabbed the DVD envelope, it turned out that they had sent me the wrong disc. Instead of The Assassination of Brad Pitt by One of those Affleck Boys, I had Disc Two of Ellen DeGeneres Here and Now.
Man, I was so steamed. Not that I really have anything against Ellen, but still, when you're expecting hot guys in cowboy hats and you get a lesbian doing stand-up, it's a tough blow to roll with. Really, it was just the whole day and that was the last straw. But I think I was still really pumped up on all the testosterone from the workout, because rather than just collapsing on the couch for a good cry (as my normal response would be) without thinking, I gathered up all my DVD's and bolted for my car to Blockbuster. I was going to find something there that I really wanted to watch and somehow salvage this terrible day.
---------
I entered Blockbuster with an air of restrained fury and was determined to find a movie and get out in under 10 minutes. When the guy at the checkout counter faltered in the middle of his routine greeting, I probably should have realized things would never be that smooth:
"Hi! Welcome to Blo-*ahem*"
Instead I assumed that maybe my withering glance in his direction had shocked him into silence. About 3 minutes later, though, I caught a quick glance of myself in the reflection of a window, and understood that it was probably my appearance that had shut him up. It also explained the little twitch of a laughing smile he repressed too.
Because in my mini-fury, I had forgotten that I was still in my workout outfit - super small black running shorts, XXXL muscle tee that hung off my shoulders so far that it revealed better than half my chest, and my hair standing straight into the air about 10 inches, from being held back in a headband for an hour.
Whatever. I didn't care, I've got a fine self body image, and I made peace with my hair months ago. I grab my movie (The Descent - I want to see some cave-dwelling monsters get their skulls crushed in. Still very full of testosterone.) and get in line. There were only two other people ahead of me, and they were both high school girls. At first they were giggling and messing around with the various impulse items in the line. As I came up in line they fell into a hushed series of whispers. I tried to tune out as much of their antics as possible, and focused on the rack of candy to my side.
Just visualizing getting home, watching some mindless horror, and putting this horrible day behind me--
"Hey," says Girl #1. They've both turned to stare at me.
"Uh, me?" I look up from the bag of Pixi Sticks I am reading and trying to talk myself out of buying and look around to make sure I'm not blocking someone they know.
"Yeah, you," she saids giggling, punctuating her 'you' with an index finger to my shoulder.
("Is she picking a fight with me?" I start to wonder.)
"What's your name?" She cocks her head to one side and just her hip to the opposing side.
"Uh, Jason." I start praying in my head that this is not going where I think it's going.
"Oh, cool. Jaaason." She draws my name out and smiles. Maybe she's just drunk. Or high.
"I'm Brie. This is Candice. What'cha renting? The Descent? That looks scary. I really like scary movies. But only if I have someone to hold on to." By the end of this rambling line of thought, she's officially moved into my personal space.
"Ahh, I see," I murmur as quietly as possible, narrowing my eyes and attempting to back up, only then realizing that I had already backed up as far as possible and was pressing by back into the candy rack.
I dart my eyes over to the friend, to see if I can find some hint about what's going on here. Is this an elaborate dare? She's got this appraising look going on, and I suddenly really wish that I had more of a shirt on than I do right at this exact moment. High school girls are not this aggressive, right?
"So, are you here by yourself? Is this your first week off from school too?"
It doesn't matter that I'm still completely sort of pissed off from this day, or that I'm basically half naked and covered in sweat in a Blockbuster - I completely just bust out laughing. I don't mean to, but seriously. Like, uncontrollable laughter, from deep within. The two girls stop and look at each other a little puzzled, but don't join in. I realize right then that they might have actually been serious, but I cannot stop laughing. Luckily, almost simultaneous with my inappropriate bout of laughter the guy up front calls for the next person in line.
The girls tell me to go ahead, since they're still waiting for another friend of theirs, starting to look at me a little funny. I get it down to a mild chuckle and tell them thanks, and that it was nice to meet them.
The checkout guy can obviously tell something strange is going on, but he's not going to get involved.
As I head out the main door, my principle interrogator calls out "Bye Jason!"
Determined not to bust out laughing, I turn and wave goodbye. As creepy as it was, I suppose one should still take it as a compliment.
And turning back to leave, I manage to misjudge how far the door will open and slam half my body against the frame. And then - reaching back to steady myself from falling - I crunch the little finger on my right hand against the other door handle.
Not daring to look back I virtually sprint back to my car and vow to never leave the house ever again.
Worst. Day. Ever.
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Jackass Training for Jackasses
I took the weekend off from exercising for reasons that are less than stellar. (Primarily: "Because I don't feel like it.") So when I got home from work yesterday I did a double session of weight lifting to start making up the difference. I made it all the way through my upper body stuff and then went on to legs and abs. This was not the most brilliant of plans, but I figured it wouldn't have too many negative effects since I didn't have much else to do that night but lie on the couch.
Immediately after finishing, while lying in a crumpled heap on the floor about to pass out, I realized that I still needed to go to Blockbuster and Target that night. Frnak's last movie was due, we had no laundry detergent, and I had not a single clean pair of underwear, socks, or towels anywhere in the house. I dragged myself up off the ground, mopped up the puddle of sweat that I left on the floor, and made my way to the stores.
Understand that this should not have been some sort of super-human undertaking. Both stores are within half a mile of my apartment, it's not like I was trekking across the state to get these errands done. Unfortunately, I was seriously wiped out and just barely made it into the Blockbuster before I misjudged my spatial relation to the Apply For Work at Blockbuster! station, and ran directly into its chair.
This was not your standard fare "distraction, glancing-blow, get-embarrassed-and-keep-walking" sort of crash. No, this was more of a "Dick Van Dyke, sprawling-over-furniture" fall. It caught me directly in the midsection and the resulting momentum sent me flailing forward, taking the chair with me. As I fell the wind was knocked out of me, but otherwise I was just fine. That is, until my knee got caught between the leg of the chair and the side of the station. So when I twisted in order to catch my fall, my knee decided not to twist with me.
It was ugly, painful, and embarrassing, but I survived (mostly because there were very few people around to witness it). By the time I finished picking out my movie and got out of the store, my sore knee was almost limp-free. I considered scrapping the Target run, (usually falling down that early in a trip is a sign that only many more bad things will happen) but I really needed to do laundry, lest I have a lot to explain at work the next day. I pressed on.
Naturally, as I got out of my truck in the next parking lot, I took one step and my knee collapsed on me. I fell directly forward, this time into one of those shopping cart return spaces, smacking my other knee against the aluminum frame, as hard as possible while under my own power.
"Just awesome," I thought while wincing through the intense pain.
I recovered myself and started to head into the store as fast as possible, trying to mask my now incredibly awkward limp as much as I could, now that it was both of my legs. By the time I was halfway through the parking lot, though, I gave up the charade and went with the limp, as it eased the pain immensely.
Sadly, my timing was off. Unobserved by me, at literally the exact same time, there was an old man walking parallel to me about 8 feet to my right. The man had a cane and was walking with a pronounced limp, incredibly similar to my own. As I said, I was entirely unaware of this, until the Target employee at the door gave me the absolutely darkest look I've received in months. I did a little double-take and looked around, trying to find the source of his disdain, only then finally seeing the old man who was entering the store at the same time. He was staring at me with the most profound look of disappointment.
I wanted to stop time at that second, pull them to the side, and plead my case, closing statement to a jury style. I would explain to them that I was not some kind of wildly insensitive mimicking asshole. That I had just somehow managed to injure not just one, but both of my knees in the last 10 minutes in the most spectacular and embarrassing ways possible. That it was a coincidence of epic proportions that we happened to both be walking in the same store at the same time. Usually I'm a nice, upstanding boy. I would make them understand. They would have to understand, and would laugh at the coincidence.
As I raised a finger and opened my mouth to start the denials, the old man shook his head and walked into the store. I turned back to try the employee, but he had already wandered off towards some other employees collecting carts in the lot, no doubt to implore them to "check out the jackass with the fake limp."
And just like that, I would always be remembered as the guy who mocked an injured old man in the Target parking lot. For, I dunno, laughs I guess.
This is just one of the reasons I should not be let outdoors, people.
Immediately after finishing, while lying in a crumpled heap on the floor about to pass out, I realized that I still needed to go to Blockbuster and Target that night. Frnak's last movie was due, we had no laundry detergent, and I had not a single clean pair of underwear, socks, or towels anywhere in the house. I dragged myself up off the ground, mopped up the puddle of sweat that I left on the floor, and made my way to the stores.
Understand that this should not have been some sort of super-human undertaking. Both stores are within half a mile of my apartment, it's not like I was trekking across the state to get these errands done. Unfortunately, I was seriously wiped out and just barely made it into the Blockbuster before I misjudged my spatial relation to the Apply For Work at Blockbuster! station, and ran directly into its chair.
This was not your standard fare "distraction, glancing-blow, get-embarrassed-and-keep-walking" sort of crash. No, this was more of a "Dick Van Dyke, sprawling-over-furniture" fall. It caught me directly in the midsection and the resulting momentum sent me flailing forward, taking the chair with me. As I fell the wind was knocked out of me, but otherwise I was just fine. That is, until my knee got caught between the leg of the chair and the side of the station. So when I twisted in order to catch my fall, my knee decided not to twist with me.
It was ugly, painful, and embarrassing, but I survived (mostly because there were very few people around to witness it). By the time I finished picking out my movie and got out of the store, my sore knee was almost limp-free. I considered scrapping the Target run, (usually falling down that early in a trip is a sign that only many more bad things will happen) but I really needed to do laundry, lest I have a lot to explain at work the next day. I pressed on.
Naturally, as I got out of my truck in the next parking lot, I took one step and my knee collapsed on me. I fell directly forward, this time into one of those shopping cart return spaces, smacking my other knee against the aluminum frame, as hard as possible while under my own power.
"Just awesome," I thought while wincing through the intense pain.
I recovered myself and started to head into the store as fast as possible, trying to mask my now incredibly awkward limp as much as I could, now that it was both of my legs. By the time I was halfway through the parking lot, though, I gave up the charade and went with the limp, as it eased the pain immensely.
Sadly, my timing was off. Unobserved by me, at literally the exact same time, there was an old man walking parallel to me about 8 feet to my right. The man had a cane and was walking with a pronounced limp, incredibly similar to my own. As I said, I was entirely unaware of this, until the Target employee at the door gave me the absolutely darkest look I've received in months. I did a little double-take and looked around, trying to find the source of his disdain, only then finally seeing the old man who was entering the store at the same time. He was staring at me with the most profound look of disappointment.
I wanted to stop time at that second, pull them to the side, and plead my case, closing statement to a jury style. I would explain to them that I was not some kind of wildly insensitive mimicking asshole. That I had just somehow managed to injure not just one, but both of my knees in the last 10 minutes in the most spectacular and embarrassing ways possible. That it was a coincidence of epic proportions that we happened to both be walking in the same store at the same time. Usually I'm a nice, upstanding boy. I would make them understand. They would have to understand, and would laugh at the coincidence.
As I raised a finger and opened my mouth to start the denials, the old man shook his head and walked into the store. I turned back to try the employee, but he had already wandered off towards some other employees collecting carts in the lot, no doubt to implore them to "check out the jackass with the fake limp."
And just like that, I would always be remembered as the guy who mocked an injured old man in the Target parking lot. For, I dunno, laughs I guess.
This is just one of the reasons I should not be let outdoors, people.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Power Through the Pain
Tired of constantly bemoaning the fact that I couldn't even walk up the 18 steps required to reach my front door without getting winded, I decided to take back up the idea of exercising. Specifically, exercise through weight lifting. Because, see, there was a brief period of my life(June 2001-September 2002) in which I was totally awesome at: 1) picking up heavy things and 2) having gigantic arms. I vaguely remembered it being pretty cool.
Sadly I forgot about the fact that it goddamn hurts to start lifting weights. Instead, I was all rose-colored glasses, chock full of enthusiasm, "getting in shape is awesome!", et al.
Good lord, what was I thinking? Enthusiasm is both dangerous and wildly overrated. I picked up a couple of sets of dumbbells from our local sports emporium over the weekend and started back up like I had never stopped. This was stupid on so many levels that it's hard to properly describe without the use of ridiculously large fonts. Even when I was in remotely good shape, just easing in to a normal routine is a pain and a half. Picking up a mid level set of weights and going through your old routine out of the blue is like joining an NFL team on opening day because you used to play pick-up flag football on the weekends 10 years ago.
Since then I have spent better than 5 days in monumental agony from ever part of my body, with the exception of maybe my scalp and ears. Arms, legs, chest, even my neck, you name it, it hurts. After the round of lunges I completed on Tuesday, based on the amount of pain caused by just sitting down, I firmly believe that my ass will be the most spectacular thing in the world when I get done. Otherwise there is no possible way that this pain could be worth it.
And see, that's how they get you. Now I have to continue on with this ridiculous regimen, since if I don't it will have been not only a huge waste of time, it's a huge waste of pain. It will have been an entire week of moaning every time I took a step, falling into chairs rather than sitting down, and wincing like a gunshot victim each time I reached for a piece of paper, all for exactly nothing. I'm way too narcissistic to admit that large of a tactical error. Plus, when you add in the fact that I tend to have a self-worth that is directly tied to the size of my biceps, you can almost guarantee that, short of the destruction of a tendon or similar, I will not stop until I reach crazy buff guy status again.
This is exactly why people think that guys who go to the gym have no brains. Because, seriously: makes no sense whatsoever, causes wild amounts of pain, physical cues the exact opposite of the intended result, yet I keep on going.
It's a sickness, I tell you.
...
...
...
But man, just check out my arms!
Sadly I forgot about the fact that it goddamn hurts to start lifting weights. Instead, I was all rose-colored glasses, chock full of enthusiasm, "getting in shape is awesome!", et al.
Good lord, what was I thinking? Enthusiasm is both dangerous and wildly overrated. I picked up a couple of sets of dumbbells from our local sports emporium over the weekend and started back up like I had never stopped. This was stupid on so many levels that it's hard to properly describe without the use of ridiculously large fonts. Even when I was in remotely good shape, just easing in to a normal routine is a pain and a half. Picking up a mid level set of weights and going through your old routine out of the blue is like joining an NFL team on opening day because you used to play pick-up flag football on the weekends 10 years ago.
Since then I have spent better than 5 days in monumental agony from ever part of my body, with the exception of maybe my scalp and ears. Arms, legs, chest, even my neck, you name it, it hurts. After the round of lunges I completed on Tuesday, based on the amount of pain caused by just sitting down, I firmly believe that my ass will be the most spectacular thing in the world when I get done. Otherwise there is no possible way that this pain could be worth it.
And see, that's how they get you. Now I have to continue on with this ridiculous regimen, since if I don't it will have been not only a huge waste of time, it's a huge waste of pain. It will have been an entire week of moaning every time I took a step, falling into chairs rather than sitting down, and wincing like a gunshot victim each time I reached for a piece of paper, all for exactly nothing. I'm way too narcissistic to admit that large of a tactical error. Plus, when you add in the fact that I tend to have a self-worth that is directly tied to the size of my biceps, you can almost guarantee that, short of the destruction of a tendon or similar, I will not stop until I reach crazy buff guy status again.
This is exactly why people think that guys who go to the gym have no brains. Because, seriously: makes no sense whatsoever, causes wild amounts of pain, physical cues the exact opposite of the intended result, yet I keep on going.
It's a sickness, I tell you.
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But man, just check out my arms!
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