So I know I need to get more exercise…actually a more accurate statement would be, “I know I need to get exercise.” But now I’m beyond any point of reasonable condition. I came to this conclusion when I was sitting on the couch watching an exhausting episode of “Man Vs. Wild” and sprained my groin muscle when I crossed my legs.
That’s it! Something has to be done! I either need to find a potion that can lob 30 years off my body… or the dreaded…go back to a gym and begin working out …on a regular basis. It sounds simple enough, but I know I’ll go once or twice and then…dripping in guilt, I’ll find good reasons that I can’t make it any longer. One of my popular reasons for not going…”If I got just a little bit more sleep today, I’ll be better rested to go work out tomorrow.” Naturally tomorrow never comes. About 10 years ago I had a YMCA membership and religiously I’d workout for 40 minutes, 3 days a week before work. I’d shower like a mad man, race to the train and then continue sweating through my clothes during the hour plus commute into the city. People really appreciated me.
This lasted for about 3 years. It ended one day when I was at the Y and I noticed a guy working out near me. He didn’t look any bigger than me but he was lifting so much more weight than me I was almost embarrassed to be in the same room. So that day, I made the declaration, “It’s Time to Step it Up!” With a new sense of purpose and determination I arm the curling machine with a man-size amount of weight and proceeded to throw my back out. That was about 7 years ago, which brings us to my current situation.
I’m at my son’s high school sports charity event. They have a silent auction going on. There is a membership to Sado Fitness Consultants…personal trainers. They’re not cheap…at all, and believe me, I know cheap. But I also know this is the only way I can force myself to do it. I need to make a serious investment and put an embarrassing amount of money on the line. (The kind of money that my Dad or Grandfather would say, Are you out of your @#$%^ mind?) Anyway it’s a good cause and I really need the help. I show up to meet my trainer. He’s a young guy, I’d say, late twenties or early thirties. He’s a good salesman. He puts me through a bunch of tests, feeds the results into a computer and comes to the conclusion that he can help me. I’m thrilled. As it turns out, I have good genes, it’s just that I’m a lazy sh*t and need to find a couch that isn’t so comfortable. Modern technology is a wonderful thing.
They start by asking if you have any injuries, which I thought was very considerate. I tell them I have some lower back problems (I decided to only tell them about one area of concern figuring if I put all my cards one the table they’d laugh me out the door.) I could be wrong, but I’m pretty sure they forgot all about my back issues after the first session… and of course I’d rather injure myself then remind them.
These workouts are only 45 minutes long; but the theory behind it is, you’re literally doing some sort of exercise for almost the whole 45 minutes…or until something gives…again, think groin muscle. My second session is with Gary the young assistant trainer. Gary is a very nice kid, but after he told me he’s 22 years old, I decided that I hate him. The workouts that Gary is putting me through while challenging are actually a bit easier than the manager’s. The workouts are starting to get harder though; I’m not liking it at all. I have a real problem when I open my mouth and have no ability to take in oxygen. I’m also finding it real irritating when I’m struggling to finish a final rep and I’m told my posture isn’t exactly perfect. Even stretching hurts. I guess somewhere in the back of my mind I thought that after a while I’d “get into it.” That’s not happening at all.
Good Cop Bad Cop – My friend Gary decides to go through a personality swap with his boss. He decides that it’s his turn to be the sadistic taskmaster. But now I’ve got a Bad Cop – Bad Cop situation. So it’s been a week and a half since I’ve gone and I show up for my beating. (And I’m paying for this.) I’m being brutalized mercilessly and have given up any concern about hiding how bad I feel. In between exercises I’m clinging to any piece of machinery that will support my weight and allow me to gasp for air. I’m hurried along to the next exercise when in desperation, I tell Gary, “Hey buddy, I’ve got T-Shirts older than you. Why don’t you go pick on someone your own age.”
When I finish, I walk over to the Manager and ask him how many sessions I have left on my contract. (I signed up for 27, but I’m thinking maybe, at the most, I have 8 left) He tells me, “Oh you’re in good shape, you have 15 left.” I’m not sure, what kind of look I had on my face, but I know inside I was saying, “Oh Crap!” I swallow my well-deserved Advil and prepare for the minimum two days of sore muscles.
It’s now been two weeks since I’ve gone. I’m actually afraid to go back now because it was only a week and half between sessions the last time and I almost didn’t make it out alive. I have a real concern that I could become a statistic. So I got that going for me…
