It’s been over a month since my last guest blogger, but I blame that on everybody except myself. And Ezra, Haylie, and Sam. Thankfully, last week Alex came to me with a proposed blog exchange! There was a catch though – normally I enjoy guest bloggers because I get to post a blog entry without actually using my brain or my typing fingers, but this time I was expected to reciprocate. This was very difficult, because I have almost entirely lost the ability to write about anything other than running, but somehow I managed to write an entire review of Stripparaoke for the Read It and Weep blog. Please read it. Anyway, back to Alex. Alex is a funny guy who likes to write funny things and sometimes say them out loud too. Please keep this photo of him saying funny things out loud in mind as you read the entry he wrote about working out, and it will be like he’s saying them to you.
Running and Then Whining About It
I went to the gym a few weeks ago for the first time in several years. I was staying at a hotel and, being a comedian, I’ll do anything for free. So after I finished pouring the little bottle of shampoo into my big bottle of shampoo, I trudged down to get my no-money’s worth. I knew I was in trouble when I saw a sign for personal training services that said, “Do you get winded walking up a flight of stairs?” and my first thought was “Pffft no. I take the elevator.”
I think I lost my discipline when I was in middle school. I was on the track and field team – well, I guess I was just on the field team. Like the other shot putters, I always hung towards the back on group runs and pumped my arms extra hard so the coach thought I was working. Once, we were doing a 5 mile run around the neighborhood and my teammate noticed that our proposed route had a flaw: it was there-and-back, thus passing the same buildings on the return journey. We ducked into a 7-Eleven and drank Slurpees for 20 minutes before slipping back into the group as they got back to the school. We were just as tired as the rest of the group, but for us it was because our bodies were trying to process a million calories worth of Mountain Dew flavored ice.
I’ve tried off and on to develop a serious running regimen in the intervening years, but three summers ago I sprained my ankle and decided to take the rest of my life off to maximize my recovery. If it weren’t for a recent cake addiction, I probably would have kept up with that plan. Pushed by vanity, I put my ankle health in jeopardy and made my Ali-like return to the sporting world. I jogged a few times in the month leading up to my hotel workout, so I thought I wouldn’t have much trouble, but I was wrong.
By far, the worst feature of treadmills is their bright persistent numerical displays. It turns out that I’ve been really bad at estimating distance in the past. For example, the high school by my apartment has a track that, I’m almost positive, is 10 miles around. Thus, if I finish a lap, I head home with my head held high. But the treadmill was having none of it. It stubbornly refused to give me credit for what felt like a ton of work. Eventually, I figured out that I could set it to count kilometers and I felt slightly better.
The treadmill also counted calories burned, which is just hurtful. In order to get myself to go to the track, I have to make deals with myself. So what the display should say is, “you need to run for 24 more minutes to make up for the cookie you’re going to eat as a reward for working out.” The longer I workout, the more weight I gain.
You see, jogging is just a head game. It’s not like I can’t run a mile. If I was running away from my college loan officer or towards the ice cream truck, I could do it no problem. But I don’t want to. There isn’t even a ball or a frisbee to chase. What’s the point? So cardio for me is mostly about the negotiations. I’m on the treadmill, and I tell myself, “Okay, champ, just finish this kilometer and then you can go home.” Then after that, I say, “See? That wasn’t so hard. Do just one more.”
That trick works precisely once. Anymore, I’m too suspicious of myself. So I have to up the stakes each time. “If you finish one more, you don’t have to workout the rest of the week.” And then, “If you do another one, you don’t have to pay rent this month. You can spend all that money on laser tag.” It’s really a battle of stupid; do I see through the charade and stop running or finish and have to spend the next two weeks in Q-ZAR?
In the end, the gym actually worked out pretty well. In addition to the evil calorie counter, they also had a built in TV screen that got cable. I’m sorry, a FREE built in TV screen that got FREE cable. This, it turns out, is the true trick to exercise. If you put a screen in front of me that gets Cake Boss, I’ll run all 4 kilometers without noticing because I’ll be so concerned over whether or not they’ll finish the aquarium cake in time. And 4 kilometers is enough to work off the calories from the Slurpee I keep with me when I run.
2 Comments
The treadmill also counted calories burned, which is just hurtful. In order to get myself to go to the track, I have to make deals with myself. So what the display should say is, “you need to run for 24 more minutes to make up for the cookie you’re going to eat as a reward for working out.” The longer I workout, the more weight I gain.
IMHO, exercise is important to health but not at all effective as a weight-loss strategy. Unless you’re super hardcore you just can’t burn that many extra calories especially when it makes you hungrier. Weight-loss is about diet and genetics.
Also, obvs., the cake is a lie.
IMHO, exercise is important to health but not at all effective as a weight-loss strategy. Unless you’re super hardcore you just can’t burn that many extra calories especially when it makes you, and by you I mean me, hungrier. Weight-loss is about diet and genetics. (The one that’s too hard and the one you have no control over.)
Also, obvs., the cake is a lie.