In 2004 I joined a gym. I signed up because my
mother-in-law, sister-in-law, and my wife all signed up for an amazing monthly
rate of ten bucks, so of course I signed up too. I didn’t sign up because I
wanted to get fit, or lose weight-I signed up because it was cheap. And for
years I paid that ten bucks a month, mostly because I didn’t want to lose that
rate if I ever did decide that I wanted to get fit or lose weight. I tried
going a few times, and even got on a roll for a while. I even got a trainer
about 6 years ago. Obviously, none of that took hold.
Fast forward a decade. Not any fitter, and not any lighter,
except in the wallet. I’m down approximately 1200 bucks (plus the trainer) and
up probably 20 pounds. I sleep well knowing that I’ve got that cheap rate
though. My lovely wife, however, has taken full advantage of that 10 bucks a
month. In the last decade (actually in the last two years) she’s transformed herself,
her attitude towards food and her body. My god she’s rocking a hot body now. She
looks better now 25 years into our relationship than she ever has. She’s slim,
she’s fit, and she’s got abs of steel. She’ll tell you that she’s still got a
ways to go, but holy man, she’s one sexy ‘after-picture’.
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| They've had my money for years. Now they have me. |
So that’s my motivation. I’ve always been married to a beautiful
woman, but now she’s taken control of her health and her fitness and it’s time
for me to do the same. So, for the last couple of months I’ve been to the gym
more times than in the last decade combined. I go about 5 days a week for an
hour, and my lovely wife is my coach. In the old days when I went to the gym I
would ride the bike and as soon as one bead of sweat arrived on the scene, that
was the signal to head for home. That no longer works. Laura is kicking my ass.
No slacking. When I’m done I’m drenched. I hate it. And I love it.
So now I use the stepper. I’m kind of addicted to it. I also
use a couple of different elliptical machines, and while I also like them, I’m
less addicted. Occasionally I change it up and use this thing called an Arc
Trainer. What a hellish torture device this thing is. The only good thing about
it is that it has a built-in fan to keep you cool as you’re striding your way
to hell. It’s awkward and clunky, and like the other machines at the gym, when
I catch a glimpse of myself on this thing, I don’t look near as cool as everybody
else doing it. If you remember the Friends episode with Phoebe running in the park, you’ll get the picture.
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| The Arc Trainer...Who could have thought of this? |
So, the third time I used this contraption things were
finally starting to come together. I felt like I was getting some rhythm, and
that it wouldn’t be too long til I would be like the other cool kids. As an
aside, I have no idea how people ride this thing and text at the same time. It
takes every drop of my concentration to hold on for dear life. So I’m striding
along, and things are going pretty well. I was picking up some speed and
developing a bit of confidence and testing out my gym swagger. That’s when
things fell apart.
At this gym, like most others I suspect, the machines are
super close to each other. Like right on top of each other. Buddy beside me was
showing off while trying look nonchalant. And I was trying to look swaggy, like
I belonged there. As I was picking up speed, I decided to let go of the handles
like the other cool guys and just stride, and at that very moment, a stinky
cloud of buddy’s nasty body odour wafted by and burned my eyes and nose. Stench
like I’ve never smelled before at the gym. As my mind was processing this
horrific smell I lost complete concentration and before you know it, I was shot
out this machine like a fast-ball at a batting cage.
My foot got caught in the pedal and I came down with such
force that I was sure I busted my tailbone. I was laid out on the floor of the
gym, my foot stuck in the pedal, thinking I broke my ass. I took a look around
to see who was recording this embarrassing little manoeuvre, and the only
person who saw me was my lovely wife. She was laughing so hard she could barely
stay on the step machine. Buddy, the cause of all of this pain and suffering,
didn’t even blink. He didn’t look down to see if I was alive, or even to make a
joke. He just pretended like nothing happened. And it was his nasty stench that
caused this thing in the first place.
As far as I can tell, nobody's posted it to You Tube. Yet. But I
sure won't be surprised to see it there. I keep going to the gym, and I
actually like it. I love spending the time with my uber-competitive wife who
can’t leave the place until she’s blown the entire Fit-Bit universe out of the
water with her daily step count and burned at least one more calorie than me. I
like how I feel after the gym (well, at least after a shower, cuz I’m a hot, sweaty
mess when it’s over), and I like that it’s starting to have some impact. I’ve
lost about 25 lbs, which for me is a real victory. There’s a long way to go,
and a lot to accomplish. My next challenge: to get my lovely wife to laugh at my jokes, not at my workout. The other
day I jumped up this machine that looks like a modern version of
something from a medieval dungeon and Laura is still laughing at my pathetic Raggedy Andy-like core strength. Thanks Coach.
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| Text from my freakishly-competitive wife showing me how many calories she's burned. |
