You know what I'm doing after i get off work tonight? Going to the bar to watch the NFL game between the Packers and Bears? No. Going home to watch the NFL game while Thing 1 and Thing 2 pounce all over me because they haven't seen "Daddy" all day long? No. No, tonight i get to go to the gym. Why? Because I'm fat. Why else would i go to the gym? Now, I'm not morbidly obese, and i even lost 25 pounds in the last three months, to get back close to my college playing weight, but you have to keep it off. These new britches i got won't keep themselves sewed on by their lonesomes. I have to keep putting the work in. The only way i know how to keep the weight off is to either stop eating, and we know that's not going to happen (did i mention i had El Patio for lunch), or get my butt into the gym as much as possible. For me that's Tuesday on my day off, Wednesday or Thursday night, Sunday morning and then usually one other time. I try to get to the gym at least 4 times a week, for at least an hour to an hour and a half each time depending on what I'm doing.
When i go though, i go to a real gym. The nasty, sweaty, meat smell filled, kind of gym. Where the women aren't allowed in except for the fact that it's now mandated by law. Where half the lights work and the water fountains taste like iron. Where they don't have any fancy machines, and the only guys who work out there legs are the ones who are missing their arms: because they were ripped off from lifting to much weight. Where green's and blue's are dispensed from candy machines like skittles. Where if you're lucky, really lucky, there might be running water in showers, but you know its cold in the winter and hot in the summer. I go to a gym, not a spa. Not a club. Not a fitness center. I got to the school of hard knox.
Shit, who am I kidding. I go to the YMCA, and i go looking for tits and ass. I live in the burbs. My wife doesn't let me have nudie mags, and with the exception of Skinemax, the Y's all i got. I'm not big, I'm not strong, and the YMCA is the perfect place to make sure i stay that way. Lift a few weights, walk around. Jog on a treadmill, walk around. I have a routine to uphold. But the wife, the wife is messing with my routine. So the wife's gotten into "running" in the last few years. At first i thought it was just a health fad. Although she didn't need to, she wanted to lose a few lb's and running seemed like a good way to do it. She also enjoys going to the gym and if it makes her happy, more power to her. She doesn't have a lot of hobby's, none to be exact, so running is kind of a health/hobby/fitness/social kind of thing for her. She's made some new friends, it's gotten her out of the house, and she's seems to be happier now then before. She's ran several 10k's, a few half-marathons, and is now training for a full marathon at the end of the year in Las Vegas. Good for her. As long as it doesn't interfere with my routine, we're all good.
Yet, like everything else, its now messing with my routine. This is my "stare at chicks because its kind of appropriate at the gym" time, not my work time. I ran cross country and wrestled in high school and have done enough running to last me a life time. But no, now I'm entered in this race in December also; a half marathon for me. Do you know how far that is? I can get to work and back and not drive that far let alone run. I'm on a daily 12 week schedule now. As if i didn't already have enough routine in my life. I have a headband and armband and "running" shoes. I look like i walked out of a Dick's Sporting Goods photo shoot for weak ass regular people? Maybe it gets me in better shape, maybe i lose some more weight. Maybe i die. I'm 3 days into this training and its killing me. . . .literally feel like i haven't eaten or slept in weeks. . . wish me luck. . . .the Y's calling my name now.
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