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.