Cardio Capades

Well I decided to forgo yoga tonight and hit the gym instead. I figure, I’m paying for both, and since I can’t be in two places at once, I’ll go to the one I probably need more. So the treadmill won tonight. (Side note: Looking at how much money I spend per month on being healthy, one would be lead to believe that I am, indeed, healthy and in shape. Although I guess, technically, I am in shape. Like the guy I saw at Walmart, his t-shirt said, “I have the body of a God. Unfortunately it’s Buddha.” Gotta love those Walmart shoppers and their sense of humor.)

Back to the gym though…holy hell there are a lot of people that work out. Like, in general, a lot of people that work out in this world. And I’d guess 10% of them use my gym. So after circling the parking lot trying to find a decent spot (for safety people, not laziness) I hopped on the elliptical. Four minutes later (yes, I said FOUR minutes, not forty) I felt a pain on the right side of my groin. I suffered through another minute before switching to the treadmill.

Now, some might not believe this, but the treadmill is one of the best people watching spots in the world. It gives you the persona of someone that is just there to work out, but really, you’re scoping every single person that walks by. And, when you haven’t been there for about two to three months, like me, you try to pick out all the “regulars” and catch up, if only in your own mind, on their lives.

For example, I saw Candy tonight. For those that don’t remember my Candy posts from my old blog, let me fill you in. She’s about 5’5, bleach blonde, with rock hard abs and…cankles. Most people don’t notice the cankles, but when you’re reaching for some sort of bodily imperfection, well, sometimes all you can find are cankles. And butterface, but again, most people aren’t looking at her face either. The name Candy stems from her ability to sweat for an entire hour and still walk out smelling like she doused herself in a cotton candy machine. It’s true. I once stepped too close to her and nearly went into a diabetic coma from the sugary-sweet smell alone. It’s also my go-to name when envisioning a sub-par stripper or the name of one that performs in a circus side-show freak act. Trifecta!

So Candy was there and chatting up every single dude in the gym, as per usual. It seems she’s grown ever more popular since the last time I saw her. I’m sure it’s just her friendly nature. I ended up just a couple of treadmills down from her, which happened to be a huge mistake because it suddenly turned into the men’s water cooler hot spot. At one point, the giggling and laughing became so loud that I had to turn my iPod up just to drown out the noise. But, as luck would have it, there is no iPod volume loud enough to compete with that cackle laugh.

In addition to Candy, I also spotted Womanizer-with-the-Jay-Leno-Chin. He was up to his usual oogling. And of course there was Stinky McCurry – one to be avoided at all costs once he starts sweating – and scrawny-arms dude who actually managed to beef up a little bit in the last few months. I was quite impressed with his improvements. Of course, I also managed to beef up but not in the same way and with little to no effort. I doubt anyone was as impressed with my changes.

Hopefully I’ll be able to get back into a regular gym routine, but I should probably state now that I make no guarantees. When it comes to working out, I’m taking the “set the bar low and you won’t be such a big disappointment” approach. True pessimism at its heart. I like it that way.

On a completely unrelated note, can someone (in St. Louis) tell me what the hell is going on with the radio station Movin’ 101.1? I’ve heard nothing but Christmas music from them for the last 72 hours. It’s terribly confusing. In the shower this morning I started humming “have a holly jolly Christmas”. Someone needs to do something about it soon before I get committed for making obscene amounts of rum balls and gingerbread in mid-October. There’s also something eerily wrong with singing Little Drummer Boy when en route to a gruesome haunted house. That song will never be the same.