Monday, July 6, 2009

Workout Checklist . . .

I'm still working out like a "mad man" (and by "mad man" I mean some one that works out about five times a week for about 45 mintues at a time with the intention of moderate weight loss, muscle development and an improved overall outlook on life). I have to say - I'm really, really enjoying it.

I don't see any real impact on my body. My clothes don't fit any differently. My lungs don't feel like they have a larger balloonability. My arms are not confused as "guns" when I show them off at the pool. My tattoo doesn't look any cooler (I kid - I would never get a tattoo, the pain would be far too much for me to possibly sit through),

I FEEL better though. That is a given though, I suppose (these lunatic freaks all around me have been telling me for 33 years now that exercise feels good and makes you feel good (Wuh-tever)). I've noticed though that the undiagnosed-but-rampant-none-the-less "OCD" that runs so much of my life has crept its way in to my exercies routine. Here, for your point-and-laugh pleasure, is my pre- and post-workout checklist.

There is a certain madness you can engage in when you work out at home, in the privacy of your basement that you just don't get at the local park or the gym or your nearest Curves (apparently my "kind" aren't welcome there anyway (sorry, ladies)).

I digress . . .

1 - Get my sweet, sweet workout gear (picture something spandex/lycra based on the bottom with a tight fighting, graphically printed t-shirt that says something like "Just Do It" up top, ladies - then stop laughing and replace that image with loose fighthing jersey knit cotton shorts and an oversized, solid colored t-shirt, with pocket up high) on and head to the basement. Take two towels (one for sweat, one to cover the display on the treadmill) with me. Grab a magazine on the way down (if you're NOT a subscriber to Cat Fancy ask yourself why you are NOT capable of giving and receiving love and then subscribe when you realize you ARE capable). Stretch it alllll out (I'm talkin' groin too here, ladies).
2 - Strap on my sweet, sweet running shoes. Check another two miles off my 500 Mile 'til I Replace the Kicks Chart (because once I check them off I HAVE to run them).
3 - Listen to my warm up song while cueing up something to watch on television.
4 - Say a quick prayer that my heart, mind and body will either a) survive the work out to follow or allow me the power to crawl to the phone across the room so I can call for Joy and/or 911 help before I black out. Remind God that I don't waste his time with the little stuff so he can know I'm very serious about this request (you can take 300 pounds off the boy but you can't take the mortal fear of a massive heart attack, stroke or other physical collapse off the mind of that boy).
5 - Hop on the treadmill and get the walking started (I do this while listening to MGMT and talking with the Powers That Be).
6 - Put my Nickelodeon water bottle with 20 carefully poured ounces of water (with flavor packet - I'm digging the Kroger brand, sugar free, faux-Gatorade with Lemon-Lime flavoring lately) on the window sill next ot the treadmill. Test to make sure I can reach it without actually turning my body more than 45 degrees from the front of the treamill (the real trouble comes at around 50 degrees, stumbling sets in at around 60, catastrophe surely lurks in the low 70s).
7 - Finish my song. Wrap iPod headphones around iPod. Toss iPod on the loveseat. Curse when it bounces back off. Stare at it - there on the floor - for the next 40 minutes. Ruing the day they (those bastards) invented cushions.
8 - Hit play on whatever TV I have cued up. Kick up the speed, the incline and the positive energy.
9 - Lay towel, specifically and strategically, over the display of the treadmill. Begin sweating within seconds (I'm a dog and the towel is Pavlov).

1 - Wipe massive amounts of sweat from brow, equipment and walls, floor, ceiling and upholestry surrounding my work out area
2 - Take off running shoes and place back on trophy shelf (that might someday house troph(y/ies) after kissing the inner soles of each and thanking them for giving this angel some wings
3 - Wring out socks. Throw against wall. Know they will still be stuck there, ready for next workout.
4 - Sit on loveseat in basement. Exhale deeply. Loudly mutter something (and to lonesome self) that will likely contain the Lord's name (taken in the wrong spirit) at least twice and one or two four letter words -none of which would make my mother or the aforementioned Lord proud or happy.
5 - Pant. Two to three minutes. Pausing only for repeat of step four.
6 - Stand. Turn of crappy summer television show or DVRed episode of the great television that TNT saves for the summer (that imp Kyra Sedgwick on The Closer tickles me pink)
7 - Turn off the lights. Grab my empty water bottle. Head up the stairs to the real world that awaits me.
8 - Stop in the kitchen. Have a teaspoon of peanut butter on my way upstairs to the wife, daughter and dog that likely await me (no one sleeps around here)
9 - Take off my work out clothes. Throw them in the laundry. Head to the bathroom and get ready for bed.
10 - Sleep like a baby (a normal, sleep loving baby not MY particular baby).

If you ARE a medical professional (Michele, Laura, Joe, Chris, Melissa, etc.) please feel free to send help and/or narcotics . . . I really want to get through the pain to get my kick-butt tattoo of the Little Debbie logo on the back of my calf (or, uh, something like that).

No comments: