On days like today, it's hard to believe that I've run a marathon. Which I have. Freaking slowly, but I've done it. Granted it's been four years since said marathon, but still...
Part of the efforts to beat back the blues has included joining the sad little drones who go to the gym to condition their bodies. On principal, I'm conflicted by this because you shouldn't have to do that if you live well and use your body. Walk instead of using the car where you can. Find opportunities to help someone dig a ditch, go out dancing, washing your own damned car, normal stuff like that. These things don't really happen because we spend our time on our rumps driving computers and hire illegal immigrants to handle the heavy lifting. Real world physical effort makes for better looking and better conditioned bodies than the freakish bulging of a gym rat's body with particular emphasis on their obsession spots. Pectoral muscles that can break open walnuts being paraded around on spindly little sticks of legs. It's disgusting. But until I manage to get off my ever inflating booty and applying myself to doing some heavy lifting in the real world, I'm counting myself in with the drones running in place at the gym.
As a side note in defense of the gym, in my early 20's I worked out there a lot and as I was maxing out on a pec-deck machine, an orgasm slipped out. Right there in the middle of a crowded gym. I was sweaty and flushed from exercise anyhow, so it was easy to play off, but how cool is that!
The point of all this blathering on about working out is that I met with my personal trainer this weekend. He's a strapping young ex-Marine and he worked me over hard, so much so that I'm having a difficult time walking straight. Out of context, being worked over hard by a strapping young ex-Marine leaving me walking funny would be a gleaming badge of honor. But alas, in this case, it's just a mark of my shame. Tonight after work, the ex-Marine will have another go at me and on shaky legs I'll amble to my car and wait for the inevitable pain to take me once again. Sometimes pain is good for you. So I'm told. I'm inflicting pain upon my body in an effort to keep it out of my mind. The irony hasn't escaped me.