Quote of the Day: “I like vending machines, because snacks are better when they fall. If I buy a candy bar at the store oftentimes I will drop it, so that is achieves its maximum flavor potential.”
- Mitch Hedburg
What’s worse than waking up feeling like total crapola? Waking up and feeling like crapola while weighing in at 198.
So I go into work and when it comes to lunchtime, I feel more like taking a flying leap at the moons of Saturn than going to the gym.
But you have to go.
Uh, hello, scale this morning.
So I drag my butt to the gym and the whole time I’m walking there, my mind is repeating over and over “I don’t want to do this.” I get to the gym and spend the first ten minutes doing something I should do the first ten minutes of every workout: taking a steamer…. just kidding, stretching. And I WAS just kidding, that’s not just another name for the same thing. Or something seedier.
My leg is still hurting me and the stretch was an exercise in pain. I’m about as limber as a frozen mannequin to begin with so with being sore added in, my stretching looked more like the aforementioned dumperage attempt. In fact, the septuagenarian on the other side of the mat was doing a better job of it than I was but I don’t smell like feet so I think I had him beat.
I got onto the elliptical machine next to Ms. Hottie-At-The Gym-On-Off-Peak-Hours-To-Avoid-Leering-Creepy-Marines (her driver’s license must be nuts) but to be fair, the machine next to her was the only available one. And once I made sure my random program put my effort bars higher than hers, I smugly ignored her. I had other issues to worry about, namely the fact that I absolutely didn’t want to be where I was doing what I was doing.
I set the machine for a half hour on the excuse that I would take it in increments but really knowing deep inside that I was not going to do anymore. Who was I kidding?
Even at level 12 for Â½ hour, I almost called it a day before getting into The Zone. You know, the time where you hit your stride and get past the mental and physical breaker waves that keeps you from the ocean of comfortable effort just beyond.
By the time I got to a half hour, I was done, miserable, and pitiful. My mind was not into it and my body followed. I felt nauseated and my legs were killing me. I had built up a semblance of a sweat but nothing to brag about and I lacked any energy whatsoever.
I didn’t even care that Ms. Hottie-At-The Gym-On-Off-Peak-Hours-To-Avoid-Leering-Creepy-Marines was still going strong, although I will point out that her level was just that: level. And only the bottom light bar showed so it wasn’t like she was doing Everest. Oh, you think you are SO superior because you were still ellipticaling (???) before, during, and after my miserable little exhibition. Fine, wallow in your superiority, did I mention I ran 20 miles yesterday? (Shut up, Killjoy).
With dark clouds over my head, I retreated to the sauna fully clothed. I figured if I didn’t work up a sweat, I could at least trick my body into doing it without effort.
When I entered, there were two men in there. The one laying down I had never seen before but the other, who was sitting up, was a guy I see in there all the time and I have a weird feeling every time that I do that he is a General. I don’t know why I think this and it bugs me. Had I seen him in uniform before? Had I met him? If he wasn’t a General, he LOOKED like a General. And for some reason, I think he’s retired but still hits the gym on base. I’ve never said a word to him.
So either he is a retired General that works out almost every day or just some guy I’ve been sending respect vibes for months. My God, if he’s just some civilian he’s probably convinced I’m gay!
I was wearing my iPod so that killed any chance to start up any conversation and since the utter silence in a sauna means you can hear what’s blasting into anyone’s earbuds, I’m sure that the fact that I was randomly listening to Frankie Goes To Hollywood’s Relax not only killed any possible respect I could garner from the retired General but also solidified the gay assumption if my respect vibes were misinterpreted.
Staring out the glass door to watch the clock, there is an unfortunate design to the gym. The shower for the disabled is in a direct line and to the right is the entrance to the main shower area. The disabled shower has a bench next to it so most people drop their belongs there before entering the shower.
As I’m sitting there wondering how gay this guy thinks I am, another older gentleman hobbles over to the shower, naked as the day he was born a century ago and drops his stuff on the bench but in the act of doing so, he, and I am NOT kidding, drops his soap.
As if in slow motion, it happened before I could avert my eyes. It was like I was stuck in some sick nightmare where I knew what was coming but felt like I was in a vat of molasses. Sure enough, he bent down away from the glass door and exposed much much MUCH more than I ever want to be able to describe. It was horrific.
OK, I had enough. I was sitting next to a guy who I’m pretty sure thought I was batting for the same team and I had just witnessed not only the legendary dropping of the soap but a full on Southern Exposure from Father Time.
Without a word, I got up and started to leave when all of the sudden, Father Time came tearing out of the shower and we came mere millimeters from colliding, I did a full body drawback like Tom Cruse in Mission Impossible trying not to touch the floor while suspended by wires.
He had forgotten something (I didn’t exactly bird dog his still buck-naked form) but on my way out, I did see his uniform hanging on the locker from where he retrieved whatever item he had forgotten.
Have a good shower, General.
Free Advice for Today: “Don’t overlook life’s small joys while searching for the big ones.”
- H. Jackson Brown, Jr.