I did the gym thing again.
I warmed up on the treadmill and pushed the speed button until it registered 4.5. I cranked the elevation. It malfunctioned. The digital display read Mount Everest. The old guy to the right of me had stayed on past his lifetime. He hunched over his treadmill; the belt sparked when sweat dripped from his brow. My neighbor to my left, the big guy in a tank top with a tattoo on his upper thigh-for-an-arm, adjusted his speed to 1.5 and struck up a conversation with me. Any answer spilling from my mouth gurgled like I was underwater. I nearly drowned in my own perspiration.
“There’s something wrong with this odometer,” I panted to the old humped over guy. “I’m sure I walked at least ten miles.”
He just stared at me.
“I walk briskly three miles every day and never perspire,” I lied. I tried to smile with my eyes as my lips wouldn’t cooperate, but all I could do was blink back the water dripping over my eyelids.
As if my hike wasn’t enough, I got on a stepper. The guy on the machine next to mine was a chronic hacker and snorter. I worked up to the closest thing to rhythm for me. I inhaled on my neighbor’s snorts and exhaled on his hacks.
My legs wobbled on my way over to the Xpress Zone — a neat and tidy row of numbered machines. I’m anal that way. It’s like doing a 3-D list. I thought it would be like a McDonald’s drive-through, where if it takes more than five minutes, you can call a number and report them. Trust me. There is nothing express about working out.
I thought I felt a muscle in my belly, but I couldn’t tell. Maybe it was the chips I ate before going to the gym. I had read carbs supplied you with stamina to get through a workout. The arm-lift-up thing-y worked muscles I didn’t know existed. And until that very moment hadn’t. I think it was a leftover relic from the days of the rack.
I hurt everywhere. Even my eyelids ached from blinking back the sweat. But I persevered. I heard exercise would change my life. I wasn’t sure this was the change I had expected.
Related posts:
Print This Post
Why not save the gym money and gas money and get a bicycle and ride to do errands?
I tried that once. Riding down the hill seemed like a good idea. Once down there, it seemed I might be destined to stay on the flat land and never again return home. It worked out about as well as when this time walked, again, down the hill to the small market, found milk very reasonable and then walked home, again, up the hill carrying two gallons of milk. Besides I pay $20 a year for the gym. Can't beat that deal.
Pingback: Exercise overdose | So Humor Me