Tag Archives: exercise

Less is more. More or less.

So yeah… I’ve been fairly consistent in my personal weight loss plan, or as I lovingly refer to it – “my healthy friggin’ lifestyle change.” It hasn’t been too difficult really. Two steady months of treadmill treading, park-walking while dodging bees and dog crap, and mindful (is cardboard a gmo?) caloric menu planning. I’ve lost 20 pounds. I didn’t think I was THAT out of shape (in all fairness, a pear is a shape). Im thrilled. I’m happy that I can once again tie my shoes in straight-on knots without some sort of convoluted out-of-breath body twisting. I can also now cut my toenails in the shapes they are meant to be in so that they don’t slice Daryl in the middle of the night, and most importantly… I can now see my d*ck when I pee.

I believe the first few months of any self imposed habit change are easy really. Daryl and I quit smoking several years ago, and neither of us lost an arm, a temper, or any friends that we like for that matter. We have it in us. Scheduling, determination, and willpower come easily to get initial results. It’s the continuing on and maintaining that evolution in the long term that separates the wheat from the chaff, the peanut butter from the jelly, the boys from the men.

Day 76 and counting…

Yesterday morning as he was hurrying out the door for work, Daryl says to me (in reality, he always seems to phrase it more like a thrown out jeopardy question,) “we ARE supposed to go to the gym tonight, right?” Now this gives me so many options out at this point. I can answer with, “Well, no. I’m too tired. I didn’t really sleep well last night. I kept having nightmares that I was actually eating clowns (cannibal or craving carvel cake? You decide.) which were holding odd-shaped colored balloon animals that were clashing with the clowns shoes.” That would have been reason enough, or I could have told him that I wasn’t up for it because I was depressed that my prescription for my anti-depressants had expired and exercising just wasn’t on my bucket list today. Or better yet, I can confuse him with one of my personal schedules that use words like conflict, house cleaning, or that I have to find a certain spice for a new recipe I’m researching and I won’t have time to go to the gym. I like to make up spice names to throw him off track. Who doesn’t need to have cardomomgerania?

Apparently he thinks I didn’t hear him the first time, so he repeats the question while muttering something about being late. I sheepishly answered, “Sure, I’ll look forward to it” with all the enthusiasm I can muster after one sip of coffee. I’m thinking that I could always feign I wasn’t awake enough to make rational choices at that time of day.

Work gets in the way.

Work was slow today. I had three customers all day. Its Tuesday. It’s summer. It’s graduations, vacations, and the implosion of Delaware interstate 495. People just aren’t into furniture buying right now. I get it. I’ve been doing this commissioned job long enough to know it comes in cycles. What I wasn’t prepared for was that at the end of my long shift, I felt the need to reward Daryl and I for our healthy lifestyle determination. To hell with earning a paycheck today! To hell with healthy living! Let’s go shopping! For me. For clothes that aren’t baggy and a smaller belt.

I could hardly wait to text Daryl that I had opted out of exercise in favor of vodka drinks and Tuscan fries at one of our favorite watering holes outside of Media. That in-depth highly paraphrased “textversation” went sort of like this:

Ed: “Hey babe! Let’s not go to the gym tonight. Let’s go have drinks and food at LaPorta and then let’s go clothes shopping at Penneys at Granite Run Mall.
Daryl: “ok”
Ed: “That’s it? That easily you want to drop the gym for vodka and a few snacks? You have no willpower at all do you? Why do I even try?”
Daryl: “Is this a test again?”
Ed: “What? Whatever are you talking about? (damn, he knows)”
Daryl: “In that case, I’m thrilled that you decided that we could forgo healthy living to go shopping at Penneys with my Associate discount card. I love it when you make all of our decisions! (All sort of condescending emoticons with kissing hearts and grinning teeth… Blah blah blah)”

Shopping requires stamina. Relationships require stamina. And vodka.

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Top TEN Rules for workout etiquette.

(dedicated to my good health-conscious friend Heather, and Bob – who literally LIVES at the many gyms he belongs to)

in no particular order…

1. You’re at the gym to work out. No gossiping, cat calling, ogling (unless it’s at me of course), date descriptions or date making.

2. Just because YOU like your workout music loud, I do not. Your iPod may consist of the latest “eff that hoe beatch” rap song or perhaps Metal Head Mania #9. I do not care to listen to your music. Turn it down or off or I will find a way to have you trip over your ear bud cord.

3. Locker room maintenance. Guys… clean up after you shave. This includes discarded whiskers, razor blades, clipped toenails, fingernails, and bloody band aids. Rinse the sink and move on. Thank you.

4. Heavy showers of cologne and perfume are prohibited. WHY do you think it masks some natural musky smell or God knows what, but I need to BREATHE while working out and your cheap sh*t ain’t helpin’.

5. Attire I. Yes, perhaps my physique resembles a tire at times but I will NOT wear spandex that looks as though it’s been molded to me thus showing every vein, mole and um… religion that I am. Grocery stores are for plums stuffed in a sack, not the gym. Also please discard used jocks in the trash and not in the locker I want to use.

6. Attire II. I realize that low riding apparel it the rage these days, but I honestly don’t care to see the underwear of ANYone unless it’s L.L.Cool J, Dean Cain, or my partner Daryl. Pull it up or pull it out is my motto.

7. Gentlemen. Do we need to spit THAT much? If I need to see the inside of YOUR body via expectoration, I will run you over with my car in the parking lot. SPLAT. Done deal.

8. Women. Scrunchies are done. They were actually over the day BEFORE they were invented. Doesn’t matter if they’re color coordinated with your 80’s leg warmers or not. DONE.

9. Kids. No. No. And again NO. Kids under the age of 21 are not allowed in my work out zone. Hire a sitter, find one of those plastic ball rooms somewhere or just don’t bring them. If you do, I am not responsible for locked steam room incidents.

10. Steam rooms. Um… don’t know about the women’s side, but in the men’s side. No. I REALLY don’t need to see your junk sitting on the bench in all its mini glory. Again, if you look like L.L. or Dean Cain, come on in. Other than that, keep your stuff to yourself and use a towel.

I have a few other “rules” of the workout, but I’ll save them for another time. In the meantime, how about you share some of YOURS in the comments section of my blog? Thanks, as always, for reading.

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