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Saturday, February 7, 2015

Fridays Workout, The Best One Yet.

Last night was the end of week (I am not sure, it was either 4 or 5)? at the gym. It was empty, which is nice, in a way. Rows of equipment standing still, watching me, waiting to see which one I would pick, you could hear the "oooh, pick me, pick me."


Working out in an empty gym is nice, it makes me feel dedicated, I could hear the theme song from Rocky playing in my head. I wish they would install a "heavy bag," it would make the image complete, a "speed bag" would do nothing to further the dream, unless you count the Marx Brothers Boxing Academy as part of the dream. When done properly a speed bag is art, when not used correctly it is a ridiculous dance, it looks absurd, and I am not even that good.


I used a treadmill, and an elliptical machine, and really pushed myself. I got my heartrate higher than any of my previous workouts, and held it longer. I don't care for exercise bikes, the traditional type is distasteful, but the recumbent kind is terrible. It feels silly, and unnatural, and I will only use them when the other machines are used.


Actually, my standards have become much broader. In the beginning there had to be a one machine buffer zone, which is still preferred, but not necessary. Last night I started on the elliptical machine, which was, I thought, my favorite, but moved to a treadmill, which now I know, is my favorite. Elliptical machines are good, but it does not seem as natural as a treadmill, picking 'em up and putting 'em down is the original form of transportation, and I am nothing if not a traditionalist.


Moving on to the resistance machines. I increased the weight, and pushed as hard as possible. More weight than any precious attempt. It was refreshing, invigorating, fantastic, and terrible. Straining, pushing, and trying to remember to breathe correctly. Inhale, exhale, repeat. Sore muscles, aching and stiffness, it was a glorious feeling walking down the endless staircase and across the miles of barren, salty, grey asphalt to my car. Somehow the soreness made the whole scene a little brighter.

Last night's podcast was "The Character Called the Writer" from Writing Challenges. I would like to tell you about it, but there were a lot of instructions, and a couple of pauses to write them down. Since I was in the middle of an "Arm Blaster", a particularly cruel portion of the workout on an elliptical machine, pulling with your arms until your shoulders and elbows ache, and your ego is bruised because you know it looks preposterous. 

Since I was the only one, it was probably ok. But, I didn't have a chance to write down the instructions. It reminded me of High School. Who had time to take notes while trying to blend in, not be noticed and facing the abject terror that the teacher may actually ask you to answer the question you didn't hear. Who had time?