Now that summer's over, my time spent at the gym will probably decrease. I don't really have an excuse since I get out of work by 2:40, and it's not like I have little kids to take care of at home, it's just that when you get home from work, you're tired. It's not easy making history interesting all day in front of semi-motivated 16 year olds, only to have to drag your sorry ass to the gym. Plus, the idea of coming home and doing nothing is so seductive. I also prefer working out in the morning, you get it done, you feel like you've accomplished something, and then you can do whatever you want the rest of the day knowing that at least for about 45 minutes, you were doing the right thing.
It's also important in our society of "I'm better than you" to be able to say that you go to the gym. And, if you take a class at that gym, people start taking you even more seriously. If you find yourself in a conversation with 4 or 5 people who workout, and you're the guy who doesn't, you might well just get in your Walmart scooter and head right for the Yodels.
As someone who didn't work out most of his life (I know, at lot of you refuse to believe that), I thought that if I ever started working out, I would look like a complete stud. The pounds would just melt off, and my inner Jack LaLane would be on display for all to observe and gawk at. I could finally be one of those guys who could walk around shirtless without the snickers and horrid glares of peering eyes. I could get into a game of "shirts vs. skins" in basketball, and not pray silently to be "shirts". (Which by the way also sucked since you had to touch all the sweaty guys, why did we have to be divided that way, what was the big deal, just remember who's on your team! What are we talking about 2 extra turnovers in a game of pick-up basketball, thank god for the "pinnies" in gym, at least I could wear those with grace and pride) I am sorry to say however, that going to the gym on a regular basis did not quite workout in the way I had imagined.
As an individual of Eastern European (Ukranian to be exact) descent, I fear that there are limitations to how much "sculpting" I can accomplish. Descendants of Eastern European Jews have bodies built for reading the Talmud, not working out in the hot sun. What bothers me about this is that my Grandfather (Poppy Louie, my father's father) was supposedly as strong as an ox, and would whip the Cossacks with their own whips. So what the hell happened to me? What, does upper-body strength skip a generation? Even more depressing, from the waist down, I look somewhat lean, I've even been called "chicken legs" by my students when I wear shorts during regents week. But from the waist up, I appear as one of those guys they show walking down the street with his eyes blocked out by one of those black rectangles when the news does a story on obesity in America. Who put this mess together anyhow??
Which brings me back to the gym. I've been going fairly regularly for about 4 years, and while I think it's helping me regarding issues such as blood pressure, blood sugar levels, and cholesterol, it's not causing me to strut around in a "wife-beater" in order that I can better show off my "guns". Part of my problem may be that I'm too distracted by my surroundings. I don't mean some hot young trainer that I can't take my eyes off of, I'm talking about the peculiarities that one witnesses while going through the motions on the elliptical. For example, while I applaud all of the senior citizens who show up every day for "silver sneakers" or "geriatric gyrating" or whatever they do to stay active, there is something about the way they go about their business that makes it hard for me to focus. Now, I'm not against the octogenarians working out, bravo I say! But, why do so many old men refuse to wear exercise clothes when they work out. I'm not saying they have to wear spandex with a bright teal headband, but how about a pair of shorts and sneakers?? Many of the old men who work out at my gym wear a button down shirt, slacks and shoes! They dress nicer than I do when I go to work. Perhaps they figure that if they keel over, they'll already be dressed for the wake?
As for the elder-ladies, they always seem to use the treadmills on either side of me..which is fine...on the surface. The problem occurs however when I get a whiff. They bathe themselves in that "old lady perfume", the kind my tante's (aunt's) used to wear. My mother would stick me in the back of our 1974 Chevy Biscayne, windows up, both of my tante's smoking, and doused in what I think was Channel #5, whilst I, am turning a whiter shade of pale. My aunts (Sylvia and Edith) then say to my mother in their Bronx twang, "Janet, something is wrong with Robbie, he doesn't look well". Hmm, I wonder why? Well, since most memory is based on smell (Deja-Smell I call it), trudging along on that treadmill to the smell of old lady perfume doesn't do much for me aerobically. But not to worry, next time, I'm bathing myself in Axe. Your move...Gladys!
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