Fitness Follies – The aftermath

Alright friends, last week I took a moment to share my hopeless attempt at going to the gym and doing this thing that much thinner people call “Working Out.”  I promise that I will not bore you all the time with reports from Death Row but many people have asked for a brief update on how this first week went.  I wasn’t even going to bother but you know what? I will take one for the team and give you a view from those of us with body fat higher than the National Debt and who’s idea of fitness is “I’m gonna fitness this Steak and Cheese up in my face.”

As I mentioned in the previous post, I had no fucking idea how anything in a gym even works, if you would have dropped me in a jungle in Nigeria I probably would have been as comfortable as I was walking into this hellhole.  I am not gonna lie, it was as intimidating as Hell.  However, a funny thing happened those first couple days, even though I almost got ejected off of an elliptical like Goose getting killed in Top Gun no one blatantly laughed at me.  Put it this way, I am the guy that was so scared of a damn treadmill that I put it on turtle speed and still hung on to the safety bars.   Apparently, my fat ass making a mockery of myself really didn’t affect those 2% body fat bastards who were too busy staring at themselves in the mirror to even acknowledge my impending death.

This is the point where I want to make a couple of observations regarding the folks at the gym, they actually seem to be ok people, deranged lunatics trying to kill themselves but still nice.  Being a judgmental bastard myself I started putting labels on some of these people.

#1 This person shall be named “What do you mean there are only mirrors on three of the walls” person.  I understand that mirrors are there so you can look and make sure that you are killing yourself properly, I get it.  But are they really there so you can check that your ass looks sweet in your yoga pants or that you look like Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson as you just aimlessly walk around with a 700 pound dumbbell in your hand?  I know one thing, I personally find places to work out where there is zero chance I get a glimpse of myself.

#2 “The Social Chairman” I am not gonna lie, this guy may be a hero and my spirit animal.  From what I can gather his only purpose is to put on $200 worth of Nike workout gear and then just walk through the gym talking to people about his family, his upcoming vacation to Florida or any other random topic.  If a person can lose calories from running their mouth this dude is fucking Usain Bolt.  He is hero to all of us.

#3 I am going to name this fella “Way to comfy being naked in the locker room guy.”  I get it, it’s a locker room, there is gonna be nudity.  That’s absolutely fine to a degree but do we really have to stand around the locker room buck naked and discuss Middle Eastern peace problems, Tigers Spring Training and the Federal Reserve?  Come on dude, it’s hard to take your opinions seriously when you are in there pontificating in your birthday suit.

Bottom line here is I actually did hit the gym 6 of the last 8 days and the scary thing is I can actually see a difference.  No, I am not bench pressing a Silverado or running a marathon but there is a difference.  I went from literally being able to do the elliptical for 60 seconds without stopping to doing 6 minutes effortlessly.  I have upped weight and reps on other machines as well.  Obviously, I write all of this in good fun but for those of you sitting on the fence about giving it a try, just know this, it freaking sucks.  There is no fun (other than people watching) and the pain is a real fucking thing.  However, my friends, I plan on continuing and I hope you will all be ready to purchase my 2018 glamour calendar entitled “ The Men of The Lottery Commission.”

Fitness Follies

Well dear friends, today started a brand new chapter in the life and times of your fearless hero, I actually rolled my butt out of bed and went over to the Davison Athletic Club and attempted this little thing that many of you like to call, “working out.”  My lovely and talented Rachel has been going and exercising quite regularly so in a show of support I figured the least my fat ass could do would be too join her and see how it goes.  In my life I have never set foot in a gym or training facility and any exercise I got was from searching aimlessly for my lost golf balls in the woods or running to the refrigerator for a cold beer and a snack.  So, how did it go you may be asking?  Well, let me cut right to the chase, if I had an option of going back again or taking an all-inclusive vacation in Fallujah I would literally have to take a few minutes to make up my mind.  Just the act of typing on this laptop is causing me pain in areas of my body that I didn’t even know existed. I am also concerned that my training partner / instructor is taking great joy in the fact that I am hobbling about the house like an 85 year old man.  I had begged her to take it easy on me due to my “newbie” status but apparently putting her in a gym setting turns her into the drill sergeant from “Full Metal Jacket.”  So, let’s take a second and summarize this morning’s activities.

We get to the gym and enter the fitness area and the room is bustling with activity.  I stare at the machinery and think to myself, so this is what the inside of a Russian labor prison must look like.  As I stand there in a state of abject terror Rachel says to me, “Let’s go over and warm up on the elliptical.”  Now, I have heard the term elliptical before so I thought to myself alright that should be low on terror and fairly safe for my old, fat body.  Yeah, that was mistake number one, we shall now and forever moving forward call the elliptical “the sliding trapeze of death.”  After taking a few minutes to understand the contraption, I proceeded to spend roughly 5 minutes trying to not fall off of the fucking death machine.  I am sure I had all of the elegance of everyone’s drunk Uncle Harry dancing to “Old Time Rock and Roll” at any wedding reception.  After successfully not killing myself and apparently burning 30 whole calories (whoopdee fucking doo) and feeling pretty positive about that, my favorite gym gangster swished her blonde hair and says lets go over and do some crunches.  I walk over to this machine and there are a bunch of basketball type objects and it is set up sort of like a pop a shot game that you see in sports bars everywhere.  Now we’re talking, I mean this sets up perfectly for my particular skill set, shooting baskets in the bar while drinking beers and eating chicken wings.  Why had she not let me start right here?  I mean this has got to be perfect for me, right?  Um, hell fucking no.  Somehow I end up on that damn floor with these weighted death balls and I am supposed to do sit ups and toss them in the pop a shot?  What the hell, where is the beer and cheese sticks?  I apparently had been sold a bill of goods on this one and after doing this 30 times, and for the record draining all 30 shots like a fat, bloated Steph Curry, I have basically lost all feeling in my upper body and midsection.  I am not going to go into the details of every exercise, but let’s just say there were things done to my body that even the S&M crowd would blush at.

In summary, I am not sure how I feel about this whole thing, I was hoping to get myself in better shape, maybe hit the golf ball a little farther this summer, but at this point my core muscles are crushed and I have lost feeling in many extremities.  I am still staggered that people actually do this voluntarily and for fun (I’m looking at you, three girls in the corner with a combined weight of 326 pounds, 1% body fat and the strength to bench press a Subaru) I already hate them on principle alone even though I am sure they are delightful people.  I have heard the phrase “your body is your temple” but to be honest mine feels more like a dilapidated Moose Lodge right now (no offense to all my Moose peeps out there) and I am not sure I will even be able to get out of bed tomorrow morning.  I am in pain from head to toe and to all the people who always said they get such a “high” from exercise, just shut the hell up, I can now verify for a fact that this garbage was made up at some point, probably by the CEO of Planet Fitness or some shit.  There is no “high” just pain and more pain.

Thanks everyone for reading and please share and comment.

The Campaign Begins

First of all I want to thank you for taking time out of your busy day to come visit the new online campaign headquarters for the Craig for President movement.  As you know, I just announced my candidacy yesterday so as of right now campaign donations are pretty light and as of right now I have raised exactly .42 cents that I found in the dryer last night doing laundry.  So, until things really get moving I will continue to use this free platform to keep you abreast of the campaign.  You can be sure there is no greater Washington outsider than this guy and Lord knows by looking at my 401k balance that Wall Street doesn’t even know I exist so this campaign will be completely transparent in our financial dealings.  Alright, enough of that, let’s get down to some issues.

National Defense — This is a big one and everyone has a right to be concerned.  Here are my thoughts, if we learned nothing else in the Super Bowl other than Peyton Manning sucks we learned a great defense can be enough to lead you to a championship.  As it just so happens Super Bowl MVP and superstar linebacker Von Miller is a free agent this year and my idea is to hire him as Secretary of Defense.  Now I know he doesn’t come from a traditional military background but frankly, who gives a shit.  We just explain the world to him like this.  All those ISIS bastards and crazy ass Iranians and North Koreans are basically like quarterbacks looking to scramble for a 1st down.  Once they step outside the safety of their pocket protection he basically has free reign to go after them in a seek and destroy mission much like he did to Cam Newton and Tom Brady in the playoffs.  He is going to be pricier than you average military man since he is looking at probably making 10 million or so a year in the NFL so we will just have to build like one less fighter jet each year to afford him.  I think it’s worth it.

The Budget–  I am no accountant, I barely passed that class at any level in which I took it and Mr Dave Young, former teacher and A.D. at Davison High can attest to that but I do know a few things about balancing a budget.  At the core it’s quite simple, don’t buy a bunch of shit you can’t afford.  Simple, right?  For the last 4 or 5 years I have tormented the lovely and talented Rachel with all of my grand plans for wanting things like a beach house in Key West, a Ferrari and most of all a helicopter.  After she gets done rolling her eyes she often gets quite animated in explaining that all of those things sound wonderful however our lucrative two income budget involves the salary of a government worker and a kindergarten teacher.  My parents always referred to this as having champagne taste on a PBR budget well folks the harsh reality is our government agencies better get good and damn ready to start enjoying the taste of PBR under my presidency.  If you are some ding dong governor in Alaska looking for federal cash to build a bridge to nowhere you better look somewhere else that bottle Dom Perignon is not coming out of the fridge.

Homeland Security — Again, I am no expert in the field of terrorist tracking or anything of the like.  However, what I am is a dad and future husband and owner of a little piece of property here on lovely Valley Vista.  I think everything I need to know about protecting ourselves can be learned by watching my idiot dog.  We have no fancy security system around here because we have the Princess Puppy.  Why is she so successful at protecting us?  Because she barks at every fucking thing that moves.  Mailman, UPS guy, stray leaf it doesn’t fucking matter.  So that’s how we will protect our country.  We will “bark” at everything, it will be a little annoying for those of just going about our business like my poor neighborhood mailman but you know what we have a better chance of finding the assholes out there that want to do us harm if we are constantly looking out the front window barking at everything.

 

 

Housework Done Half Assed

Friday night the lovely and talented Rachel and I were discussing the fact that due to the holidays and her recent surgery the condition of our house had reached the level we lovingly refer to as, “filthy trash pit.”  Don’t get me wrong, we are not living in 3rd world squalor and we have a lovely home but let’s just say some of the corner dust bunnies appeared to be reproducing faster than regular rabbits.  We went to bed Friday evening determined to attack the problem Saturday morning before we had to make a road trip to watch our son Tyler play in a basketball tournament that afternoon.

So let’s fast forward to Saturday morning shall we.  They day dawned gray and rainy yet your hero (me) woke up determined to start attacking the situation at hand.  A natural problem solver I started the operation with a large pot of coffee and a wasted 45 minutes cruising the Internet.  While not very productive it did help me get focused and after the last of the coffee I found myself getting into the cupboard for the dusting supplies.  My senses were laser focused as I walked into the battlefield (living room and computer room) and assessed the situation.  It was truly worse than I imagined and I briefly considered throwing up the white flag and retreating back to the safety of my pillows and blankets.  However, I recalled the heroic and inspirational line from Animal House when the toga party was being threatened and John Belushi rallied the troops with the famous phrase, ” Was it over when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor?  NOOO.”  So, with steely resolve and an intimidating glare that would make Clint Eastwood proud I charged onto the field of battle.

I was slowly making my way through the project when I realized something was amiss.  My wing woman, The Hall to my Oates, the Milli to my Vanilli was nowhere to be found.  This can’t be right I thought, we both agreed that this house was mere seconds away from being condemned due to filth (slight author exaggeration) and yet I didn’t see or hear her tackling any projects.  I wandered into the living room expecting to see a flurry of blonde haired ambition turning our home into a Better Homes and Gardens worthy showplace.  Imagine my surprise when I looked into the room and a see a lovely blonde creature curled up on the couch with a blanket, a pillow and the dog and her book.  I stood incredulously, dust towel in hand as I stared at her.  She glanced at me from the couch and said, “Yeah, I’m just not feeling that great this morning.”  I understood as we had both been battling a cold over the week but dammit it was time to power through and save this home from impending doom.  I was walking over to the fireplace to continue dusting when I heard from the couch, “Hey, will you make sure to dust the window sills and stuff also?”  I stopped, counted to three in my head, (they say you should do this before saying something you will regret) and looked at that beautiful face and said in my most blatantly sarcastic voice, “Sure sweetie, whatever you want.”  Seeing that she is not just all beauty and no brains I could see she had caught on to the sarcasm.  She looked at me and said, ” Well you know, you are kind of a half ass duster.”  Boom, there it fucking was, the nuclear bomb had dropped.  I stopped, still reeling from the comment.  I was shocked, primarily because “half ass” or not I am the ONLY damn person in this house who dusts any fucking thing.  Me, just me.  No one else.  The blonde ambition tour hates dusting, refuses to do it and as for the two boys, let’s just say I don’t know if 1/8 ass is a word but it would accurately describe their effort at doing chores.  I had to ask myself, self, would you prefer a half ass dusting job or a no ass dusting job?  It’s like asking if I would rather have half a pitcher of beer or no pitcher of beer.  Pretty easy choice right?

After regaining my senses I decided that this heinous attack from the blonde has actually inspired me towards a new business venture.  I am gonna call it “Half Ass House Cleaning.” That’s right, if you need your laundry washed and only partially dried, I am your man.  Vacuum half the floors?, I got that shit.  Want half of those dirty dishes done?, psssshhh that’s child’s play for me.  Normally I would say that if life gives you lemons do a shot of tequila but in this case I am going to take this harsh and uncalled for attack on my person as a way to a better life.   I have a feeling there is going to be huge demand for my services so make sure to call me at 1-800-half – ass to schedule your service.

Thanks everyone for reading and please share with your friends and family if you like.  You can also follow me on Twitter @Craiger211

Basketball Dreams

From the moment he could walk there was always a ball.  A ball to throw, one to dribble and one to shoot.  There was a hoop in the yard, another in the basement and Nerf hoops hanging from the door frames.  The ball took us to dusty gyms and outdoor courts.  It was the same routine even when the locations changed.  Shoes squeaking on the floor, coaches barking instructions.  Ten years later he walks on the floor he only dreamed about.  Banners hang from above, symbols of past glory.  No matter what happens tonight the journey will be worth it.

Hysterectomy Hijinks

Hysterectomy Hijinks

By

Craig Gist

 

 

I have heard it said that there are some lessons in life that you can only learn the hard way.  Last night, thanks to the pill-head hillbillies sharing a hospital suite with Rachel, we learned that the curtains that divide a hospital suite for privacy indeed do not stop the noises generated by a hastily performed blowjob.  As utterly disturbing as it was, later on in the night I did have to stop and wonder at the marvelous advances in modern medicine.  Of course we can’t cure Cancer yet but dammit we can give a woman a full hysterectomy and two hours into recovery she is willing and able to orally service her unemployed, no cash having, meth head of a boyfriend right in a shared hospital room.  I don’t know what kind of medicine she was given in her post op recovery but Viva Big Pharma!

I can tell you what else those curtains won’t protect you from when your room neighbors are a couple of cousin humpers from somewhere in Northern Michigan.  You find out real quick that when you have a funky little pill problem it’s ok to make out with your boyfriend when no one is looking but when any of the medical staff come in it is best to put on your most pained expression and act as if you are on death’s door so you can get more pills to hoard.  Also, when your charming boyfriend had to pay the outrageous sum of $2.25 for a slice of pizza in the cafeteria when it comes time to order your meals make sure you order enough for a small army so that never happens again.

Folks I can’t even make this shit up.  We also learned about what foods make the princess “farty” and listened in on a riveting phone conversation regarding the issues with her “pee hole.”  Unfortunately, the problems weren’t limited to health concerns however.  Apparently all was not well in the old home front either.  Apparently Prince Charming had allowed his ex and her new boyfriend to move back in with him but those lousy bastards had done used all of his coffee creamer without paying a dime for it.  Forced into action by this travesty my man was forced to steal all of the coffee out of the house to teach those free loaders a lesson.  It also appears that the arrival of the ex at his house has caused a bit of consternation for his new love interest as she did tell him during a fit of anger, “ Why don’t you just go back home and have some coffee with that bitch.”   Not only is there trouble at home but it appears the happy couple may have transportation issues as well.  There seemed to be a little confusion as to whether they had “borrowed” or maybe even stolen the $600 car that got them to the hospital.  Ownership rights aside, they also had run up on a little problem of having exactly zero money with them to buy any more gas for the vehicle to get them home.  They were really hoping the fumes they rolled in on was going to be enough to get them back up north.  Again, this is where things get a little murky.  Apparently our hero was given twenty dollars for the gas but he may or may not have spent it in on that slice of pizza, a latte (My man loves his coffee) and chewing tobacco.  Obviously not the wisest of decisions but what really chapped her ass was the fact that he didn’t leave her a “dip.”  I am not sure I have ever seen such a blatant lack of chivalry.  Fast forward to the end of the evening and our happy couple are snuggled in up in her hospital bed, because why wouldn’t you when the evil night shift nurse comes in to inform him he can’t spend the night in the room because it is a female only room.  Oh the humanity, what in the hell is our hero supposed to do?  Apparently you throw a hissy fit suitable for a 3 year old and explain all of the future back conditions he is sure to endure from sleeping on a couch in the waiting room (hey buddy, possibility of more pills, think it through)  or out in his car with no heat.  To his credit the nurse refused to budge and our man was forced out into the wilds of the hospital for the evening.  Luckily, this did allow Rachel and the other guest in the room the opportunity to relax but it really put a damper on the comedy relief for the evening.

I promise all of my readers that this stuff is actually true.  Hell, even my twisted imagination can’t make this stuff up.  I hope you enjoy and please read, share and comment and please follow me on twitter @craiger211.  Thank you.

Flint unfiltered

The parking lot looks like a small, concrete wasteland.  Trash and empty liquor bottles litter the area.  In one corner an old pair of jeans and the remnants of someone’s hair weave lay discarded in a heap, apparently abandoned after a parking lot brawl.  The prevailing odor is the pungent smell of marijuana wafting through the air and the ground shakes to the pounding bass lines of the unintelligible music being blasted from the cars.  A barely clothed woman offers .99 cent cans of malt liquor on a tattered sign hanging in the window.  The desperation in the air is oppressive.