Weird Scenes Inside The Gym

 A while back I posted that I had started going to the gym to address some of my, for lack of a better term, health issues. Psychologically speaking, I decided to go for the very reason that I don't want to go. You can read more about that decision HERE. But for this post, suffice it to say that sometimes in life you just have to psyche yourself into doing even the most beneficial of things.

OK, so at least 3 days a week I wake up, have a cup of coffee and a healthful breakfast of sliced fruits, nuts and feta cheese. I don my gym clothes and saunter across the street to the gym. No, I don't drink raw eggs ala' Rocky, but I do raise my hands in victory after jaywalking my way through traffic. Sure, there's a crosswalk about 20 feet way, but, you know like, that would be too easy. Besides, statistically more accidents happen at intersections than in the middle of the road.

Anyway, the gym I go to is small, or at least the weight room where I work out in is. There is another much larger room that hosts aerobics classes of all forms. If Cheech and Chong were members of this gym, they'd probably hang out in the corner of the larger room. At times, this room seems to reverberate with waves of rainbow colored hues of stretchy fabric waxing, waning, and writhing in faux copulating movements. Reminded of the Doors' song "The End" and the lyric "weird scenes inside the gold mine", I've decided to  pass on these regular Dionysian orgies of spandex and lycra. Anyway, I don't do spandex; it makes me itch. So, I've opted to stick to the smaller room where most people wear cotton. It suits me fine.

Moreover, the larger room also has a disproportionately large amount of women doing 'squats'. Now, I once read an article on a phenomenon called menstrual synchrony concerning lunar fertility rhythms in ancient tribal communities. The women there would ovulate together on the full moons and then subsequently bleed together on the 'dark moons' (when the moon and sun are conjunct). Yes, the large room makes me nervous.

In the weight room, my basic workout regimen includes 15 minutes on a stationary bike, 20 minutes on a treadmill, assorted gesticulations on weight machines, and then another 20 minutes on the treadmill. Oh yeah, I have to do sit-ups, too. Alas, life ain't perfect.

Warming up on the stationary bike is great. It's comforting to know that my work out begins with my sitting down. I also appreciate that the chances of my falling off the stationary bike are very low. Also, the stationary bikes face the small TV hanging precariously over the heads of those huffing and puffing on the treadmills. Quite a choice of viewing options is on offer here: the morning news or bouncing butts (less 'Barbie and Ken', more 'Betty Boop' and 'Popeye' - for those of you who are more visual oriented).

Wimpy

OK, don't get me wrong: the truth is I'm not really one to comment on the physiques of other gym members. Honestly, I do want to say that I find most of the people who train or just workout at the gym very inspiring. Sure, it's easy to throw stones and crack stupid about who should be voted onto any one of those reality makeover TV shows that grace the airwaves. But let's be honest, looking in the mirror and seeing our own shortcomings can be very sobering. Trust me, my looking like Popeye would be a vast improvement over my looking like his friend Wimpy, or even Judd Jugmonger on a bad day. Though I've managed to lose about 10 pounds already, my naturally grown beer belly still protrudes a bit from under my t-shirt when not tucked into my pants. And, though I've been told that I am broad shouldered enough to pass for a weight lifter or wrestler, I'm no Arnold Schwarzenegger! Well, maybe I could pass for him if I grew a few inches, lost my gut, and stood in front of one of those circus mirrors.

Speaking of Arnold and my beer belly, I wanted to make it clear that attaining six-pack abs is not one of my goals. When undertaking any fitness program, you do need to set realistic goals... and if you saw me doing sit-ups, you'd most likely agree. Firstly, the Earth's gravity must have gotten much stronger since I last did sit-ups in a past life. I've given up on being able to reach my knees with my elbows more than once. A trainer told me to just focus on raising my shoulders off the floor a few inches, and to make sure I exhale on the way up. To my horror, I've learned that I breathe backwards! Now, I'm not sure if this is the result of a congenital disorder or what, but apparently with practice and patience, the condition is reversible. And yes, I'm making progress! Ground Control, we have lift off!

Now, when I first started using the treadmills, I was instructed to take it easy. "Walk, don't run" I was told. Fine, I can walk. My feet don't go in the same direction, but I can walk. In time, I discovered, it's not enough to just walk, however; you need to walk fast in order to get your heart pumping the sweat out of your pores. And, somewhere between your maximum and training target heart rates an endorphin rush lies, or so I've been told. Therefore, over time I've ramped up my walking speed. It did take me a couple of weeks to start sweating appropriately, but I am happy to say that now I'm flailing my legs around at a good pace, and I am only worried about at what high speed it would be safer to run than to walk. After all, I've only fallen off the treadmill ONCE, so safety is always an important consideration.

I've also made an amazing discovery: it turns out that I like perspiring. Lord, who would've thought that I, a former Miami native, who traveled way across the sea to get away from 12 months of insufferable sweltering persiration inducing Florida humidity, would end up enjoying warm sweat streaming down my body into my sneakers? But I do. I don't know if it's an 'endorphin rush' I'm experiencing, or just the good feeling of knowing that I'm actually realizing some of my health goals. When I get home after each workout and wring out my gym clothes I've peeled from my aching body, I smile knowing I made the right choice to get up off my ass and go to the gym.

So, for all you couch potatoes who can't decide on whether or not to take the gym plunge, I say  'JUST DO IT' and 'GO FOR IT', too! And, take heart: most of the pulling and pushing you see on those weight machines are done from a seated position!
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PS. Thanks for reading. Do you go to the gym? Do you like sweating or are you just generally a nervous type? How many times have you fallen off the treadmill? Be honest!

Suggested Listening: What I listen to on my MP3 player for my high energy workout:

   

   


Suggested Reading:
     
 

I think, therefore I am distracted.

Photo source

More than occasionally, I get distracted by things I take more than a passing interest in. I'm working and then somehow "tele-pathetically", my attention and thoughts have been teleported to some obscure webpage which I micromanaging my way through. It just takes one stray thought to hijack my stream of consciousness. It could be about something trivial I read in the news that morning, or something profound I thought about the day before, or even something ethereal I dreamed about ... or daydreamed about. Whatever it is, I pursue this new found interest with behemoth vehemence, almost as if I'm championing some cause.

It could be, I think, a coping mechanism of some sorts that I inherited genetically from my father. You see, he was a real estate appraiser, and a reformed mathematician. Half the day he spent driving around different neighborhoods looking at "comparables" (houses that had previously sold) and trying hard not to look like he was casing said neighborhoods for a future home invasion scheme. The other half of the day he would write up his appraisal reports: monotonous long and short forms to be completed with data and figures that mortgage lenders would eventually rip borrowers off with. When completing such forms, my father needed distraction to break up the stress of monotony. If at home or at the office, he'd listen to talk or sports radio. Usually though, he liked to sit at busy places so he could  look up at the all the hustle and bustle and watch people and the world go by. Really! You'd find him sitting at a mall, at the airport, in a hotel lobby, etc. Had Starbucks been around when he was working he most likely would have been a fixture. He had an active mind... so he needed distraction. I'm pretty much the same way ... (pensive pregnant pause entered here) ... though most likely due to the raging modicum of my mom in me as well, I fear that a small part of my willingness and penchant to be distracted might also betray a much needed break from reality.

Ok, so I'm not a real estate appraiser, I'm a ........ well let's just say I do a lot creative things that tax my mind, like writing. And, when my work involves deadlines then I'm doubly stressed. So mental vacations are all the rage in my little cognitive world.

I've often wondered whether perhaps these mental jaunts might be symptomatic of some form of attention deficit disorder. Some politically correct pseudo-intellectuals might nod their collective heads and term it an ability to multitask. Thanks, and it sounds nice, but you and I both know the truth: there's only one thing on my mind at a time, along with a nagging elfin voice booming "hey, aren't you supposed to be...". Yes, I know better, but it appears I care less.

To make maters worse, I'm a chronic procrastinator. Yes, he the artistic, creative and mentally uptight laid back one procrastinates. Don't ask me why, it's just a state of mind and old coping mechanisms die hard. It's ok, I admit it, and it's a problem, I know it. It's something I need to address, and I will... eventually.

They say that procrastinators often do so because they have a deep rooted fear of failure. Perfectionists by nature, they procrastinate to avoid completing a task so that their effort won't be judged negatively should not it fare well and yield shouts of "glory be!". Having rather inflated egos and an overconfident, albeit ludicrous, sense of their abilities, they procrastinate so they may feign the excuse "oh well, if I had had enough time to complete the job, I would have defied expectation. What a pity we ran out of time".

Another thorn in my foot's arch is that most of my work is computer based ... and most of my interests are Internet based. The plethora (there's a word that should scare you all!) of available information on the Internet, both relevant and irrelevant, makes these mental excursions of mine tantamount to searches for the holy grail; they never end. I'm always searching for that one more piece of elusive information that will satiate my appetite and return me back to my work and reality. And, just like Muddy Waters, "I can't be satisfied".

Ok, I'm not a perfectionist and I'm not lazy. I'm not bored with my work and I'm not "above all this". What I am is a dreamer. 12 school years of looking out the window will do that for you. I should research things for a living. I'm good at the finding the needle in the haystack. I enjoy the trip. It's inane, I know. But, at least, thank god, I don't do Farmville!

PS. Thanks for reading. If any of you all can relate, share your thoughts, leave a message and I'll get back to you when I return.

Suggested Reading:

     


Suggested Listening (mp3s):