TUESDAY, APRIL 13, 2010
Perhaps the most difficult part of starting any new fitness routine is the dreaded second day. At the end of the first day, you may be a bit sore, but you always feel great. "What a great workout! I could tow a truck with these abs! Boo-yah!" And for some reason, whenever I start a new fitness routine, I somehow believe that a magic Weight Fairy will visit me in the middle of the night, and by sunrise I will be a svelte 210, with my previously unhealthy habits fading in the rearview mirror.
The reality is that while I go to bed feeling awesome, I always wake up saying, "Shit, I have to do that all over again?" To make matters worse, Holls is working the next few days starting at 10am, so while we're able to eat breakfast together, there's nobody around to kick me in the butt to get me going to the gym. The second she walks out that door, I am on my own. On any other day, that means Warcraft/Netflix/TV in some order. But if I nip this Second-Day Jinx in the bud, I might be riding Easy Street all the way to I-Have-Some-Semblance-of-an-Ass Avenue! So it's worth a shot.
For breakfast, I attempt to make a fruit smoothie while Holls is showering. We both agreed that this wasn't a good idea, but I needed to contribute something to this cause. I stuffed all the contents into our medium-sized blender, which immediately regurgitated half of them onto the counter. Mmm....Counter Smoothies. Delicious, but a hell of a mess.
Things are going a little differently today. In an effort to salvage some of my sanity, I determined that the best option for me is to start packing some things for work so I can transition seamlessly from the gym to the office. That, and if I have to make more than one trip to work per day, I may suffer a severe case of depression.
So I pack everything: workout shorts, workout shirt, toiletries for the shower, change of socks, change of shorts, change of shirt, all that stuff. Remember this paragraph, because it's very important later on.
I must first head to the library to return my book. The branch of the library I borrowed it from is waaaaay up on Forest Avenue, so in an effort to circumvent the Traffic Monster That is Northern Portland, I pay my dollar to use the turnpike. I drive all the way up, park in front, ready to make my next literary selection - probably a John Le Carre novel, or maybe even go back to an old favorite like Stephen King?- and the library is closed.
Son of a crap.
I pay another dollar to head back down the turnpike to my workplace. Day 2 has consisted - thus far - of extreme lethargy, Counter Smoothies and closed libraries. I feel my gorge rising.
Upon arrival at the gym, I immediately do my three minutes on the treadmill, followed by my Elaborate Stretching Routine. In the midst of my Routine, the person who actually runs the gym - from this point forward referred to as Nameless Dictator (which is actually a joke because she's about as far from a dictator as one could be) - arrives on scene.
"Having a good workout?" she asks.
"Oh yeah! Can't wait to do some lifting!" I exclaim.
"What are you working on today?"
"Chest and back."
"Awesome. Do you ever plan on paying?"
That's how I remember it going, anyway. I square up with the Dictator, complete my Routine and begin my workout. A chest and back workout is essentially the money workout; it's the one where you feel like a champ afterward because you know that during the entire workout, you look like an iron man. Every exercise, every flex, every grunt makes you feel superhuman. There's no screwing up this workout, even if the weights are smaller.
Unless you're me, of course. Although the dumbbell flies and dumbell pullovers were relatively easy, and the lats exercises were a cinch, I finished up the weight portion of my workout with shrugs, which are about as exciting as it gets. It's essentially grab the heaviest weights you can handle and shrug your shoulders a bunch of times. It sounds very easy, except I immediately discovered that a peculiar tic I have renders this seemingly simple exercise to be a rather painful lesson in not looking like an idiot.
See, for some reason, when I shrug my shoulders, I also try to recede my head into my neck, much like a Ninja Turtle. I don't really notice in everyday situations, but when I'm grasping onto an extra 90 lbs., it gets very annoying and very agonizing. And the more you tell yourself not to do it, the more ridiculous the spectacle becomes. After the first three reps, I noticed I was doing it. I wasn't stretching out the parts I needed because I was canceling out the exercise by dropping my neck, which in turn started to crush my vertebrae. On rep #4, I told myself to stop it. I just barely did, which was apparently good enough for me, because I didn't think about it as I moved onto #5, at which point I immediately rammed my head down into my shoulders.
Again: "Stop it, Gordon!" (rather quietly to myself). I stopped on #6, but on #7 I immediately did it again.
You ever see those homeless guys wandering around, muttering incoherently even to themselves? The sight of me exercising while cursing myself trumped even that memory. What had started out as a great workout was quickly regressing into an even bigger example of why I should not be allowed into most public places.
Let's finish strong! Back to the treadmill for some hard running! And let me tell you something, Mr. Man, I ran the hardest mile of my life on Tuesday. My sides were hurting, I was panting, I was sweating, I couldn't go on...but eventually I finished re-tying my shoes and stepped on the treadmill and cranked that mile out. RUN THROUGH THE PAIN! BEEFCAKE! BEEFCAKE!!!
I churned it out, struck up a conversation with a fellow gym rat (although he actually looks like he goes to the gym once in a while), and then headed for the showers...
...where I soaped up...
...and I shampooed...
...and I dried off...
...and lotioned up...
...and went to get dressed...
...so I reached for my underwear...
...and I reached...
...and I searched...
...is it under the shorts? No...
...is it on the floor? No...
...is it...
...in my underwear drawer at home? Yes...
...am I really upset at myself? Yes.....
...what are my options?...
...workout underwear looks like I just dropped it in a puddle (DUE TO SWEATING, OF COURSE)...
...so that really leaves only one option...
"I'M OUT THERE, JERRY, AND I'M LOVING EVERY MINUTE OF IT!"
This works well for about .046 seconds. It becomes achingly clear that things that are clean now will not be in a couple hours. I must spit in the face of my own preparations and [sigh] drive home to grab my undergarments.
And every time I moved my legs for the rest of the day, I thanked myself for the trip.
P.S. Dinner was Eggplant Parmesan, courtesy of Holls. In this age of ranking things and naming things number one of all-time, this was, IMHO, the best Eggplant Parmesan I have ever had. Ever. Here's to you, Eggplant-Parmesan-Making Fiance!
Tomorrow: Peeing in the Free World
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