Relaxing, My Way.

Sometimes you just need to forget about life for awhile. Sometimes you just need an escape that is deep, and beautiful and carefree. Sometimes things just get so complicated you need to "bust a move on outta there."

I like to go to the gym. Lifting weights, cardio the mechanics of exertion, sweat, these are anesthesia to the soul. Plug in some music, and forget about your troubles 12 repetitions at a time. I use the strain to unwind, break free from my day, drift, no purpose, no promise, just me and the machine, or kettle ball, or free weights in harmony. Symbiosis as exercise. It is almost beautiful.

In the back, though, it is not peaceful. It is where the serious lifters practice their discipline. Big, strong young people, muscular, defined and dedicated, this is where they work out. It is filled with the sound of weighted plates clanging onto barbells. Crash, slam. Grunts echo from the area. Odd, aggressive encouragement sounds a cadence for the supreme effort.

"C'mon, once more!" Leaning right over the prone figure, flat on the bench, struggling mightily to lift that huge weight one last time. It always seems angry, and I half expect the motivation to be followed by a string of unprintable insults. "C'mon, once more, you #$%cki#g p2$$y." It hasn't yet. It is almost always followed by a loud explosion of sound as the barbell is dropped, and the lifter and hostile sounding cheerleader/weight lifting assistant celebrate the success. "Yeah!" Slaps on the back, high fives, and other congratulatory sounds.

They use the gym for gains, the thrill of growth, almost a conquering of yesterday's achievement. I envy their dedication, but I could never do that. They work hard. And long. And it shows. I am only their long enough to shake off the day.

I like to kayak. Paddling and floating, temporarily, away from the life's troubles. Perspective is different on the water. It is quiet on a kayak, the blades splashing gently, sometimes the paddle sits in your lap, and the boat cruises almost soundless.

There are parts of the world that can only be seen from the water. Last week we went to a new launch
site. Arriving early it was quiet and there were fewer people. Just south of the ramp (really just a sandy, gentle incline) was an island. Paddling around the farthest point we saw a dead tree standing slightly taller than the other trees. Sitting all over the top of the bleached white skeleton were probably thirty or forty birds, big birds, ospreys I think. It was a wonderful sight, but you would never see it from shore.

Kayaking is an odd pastime. I see people who look as though they have been kayaking forever in small, inexpensive looking boats. Paddling, turning, comfortable, they are experienced, natural. And I see people who look as if they have never launched with boats that easily cost $1400.00, and they look miserable on the water. Even with peddle drive and a rudder, they just look out of place. Ours were a couple of end of the season bargain cave beauties that float, steer and help us unwind. They maybe the last "yaks" we ever buy.

Life is nothing more than a series of choices. I try to choose to be happy whenever I can. That is the only advice I have. It seems silly, almost sixty years old and I still don't know anything.

Somehow, this song seems appropriate for this post.

It is Fun To Workout.

I decided to start exercising. Getting older, heavier, more liable to suffer the effects of health related illness, or injury made it seem a wise choice. The only choice. Aging is difficult, aches, pains, constant worry and concern. It is impossible to escape the gripping fear of doctors, tests, and the terrible results waiting after every blood draw, x-ray, or scan.

“My knee hurts. Has for weeks.” I will tell my wife.

“You should go see the doctor.” She will reply. No thanks, who needs that kind of pressure. Who knows what he will dig up, what he will find, if he goes looking deep enough. And he will dig, and probe, and ask until he backs me into a corner from which there is no escape, no hope of rescue. I will be forced to confess, rat myself out just to avoid any more accusations.

“I did it, Doc, I didn’t take my medicine, and I have been drinking soda pop, and eating potato chips. I’m guilty.” That’s when it gets bad.

So, it seemed much smarter to just get in shape, cut down on the doctor visits, and take better care of myself. So, I joined a gym. The YMCA. I know, it’s not a real gym, it’s not where real fitness guys go, it is workout lite. But, we got a discount, since my wife works at a school, and since I have never been to a gym before and had no real plan and assumed that my zeal for fitness would not last long, it made sense.

I am still going, every other day. And I love it.

At first it was very difficult, I didn’t know what to do, or how to do it. And I was sure it was only a matter of time until someone said “hey, you’re not a workout person, you don’t know how to use this stuff, beat it. Come back when you don’t look so ridiculous.”

It was more like guerilla exercise, sneak in, work out, run out the door, don’t make eye contact, try to blend in. Get in, get out. Too bad I couldn’t go in the middle of the night. “Who owns the night?” I do, kind of, if no one else is there.

After a couple of weeks I noticed that I didn’t have to rely on subterfuge, camouflage. Nobody cared I was there, nobody even noticed. Everybody was just exercising, and not paying attention to anybody else.

And you know what, there were all sorts of people. Young, firm, fit people. So athletic, doing exercises the seem impossible, lifting enormous weights, Atlas like weights, bouncing jumping, twisting, contorting in ways that make me hurt just watching. Old people who limped in, carried themselves all the way to the treadmill in the back. Hooking their cane on the rail, resolutely piling up the steps. You wonder why they put them so far from the entrance. And all the types in between my category, the type in-between. I realized this was the perfect gym for me.

There are groups, mostly older people, who come, hang out together, drink coffee, work out a little, and talk. They seem very close, a special bond of friendship. Forged in carrying Styrofoam cups, conversation, and occasional forays into the world of exercise.

There are groups of younger guys. Serious about lifting. Staying mostly at the free weights, encouraging each other, in manly, macho ways. “One more, One more, C’mon!” Their dedication shows, they are big, muscular, and lift insane barbells loaded with huge plates. They spend a lot of time adding and subtracting weights, preparing for the next assault. It almost seems a symbiotic relationship, lifter, and weights in harmony, forever.

Groups of women gathering at the door, chatting excitedly, waiting for the current class to end. They work in unison, to music, and at the direction of a leader with headset microphone. A leader who, from the safety of the open exercise room, can sound sound dictatorial, harsh, unforgiving. “Up, reach, higher, higher than that.” You almost expect the instructor to start swearing, Iron Mike Ditka teaching Jazzercise, “Move it, you worthless **#$%%++!”

I made my long suffering wife start going, so I would have a workout buddy. Poor girl, but she is starting to enjoy herself, or has accepted her responsibility anyway, and pretends. So, she goes. And since she is so charming, and outgoing a lot of people know her, and talk to her, which makes it look like I have a lot of friends. Nobody knows they are just waving and smiling at my wife. Man, do I look popular, as long as she is there.

My wife does not stay for the cardio portion of the work out. I don’t know why, and have never asked, not a good idea to mess with your workout “gang.” I plug in my headphones, select a machine and rock and roll my way to better health (sometimes I listen to audio books, thanks to the Columbus Metropolitan Library), and occasionally it will be a podcast, but mostly it is music. It is so easy to get lost in a song.

And here is another great thing about working out at the YMCA. I rock and roll. Tapping the handles in time to the music, I probably sing along. Jerry Garcia and me crooning;

“This heart of mine, could never see

What everybody knew but me
Just trusting you was my great sin
What can I do, you win again”



Man Hank Williams understood pain, torment, and the Grateful Dead could turn it into a long, sad, melodic anthem that will push you through the most painful “rolling hills” selection on the elliptical machine. And nobody cares that I am singing and tears are streaming down my face. Occasionally someone will come along and say, “don’t worry, everything will be ok.” Invariably, they will offer to buy me a beer.

You have to love the Y.

Exercise, Domination, and History, another Wednesday.

Yesterday work was physically demanding, lifting, carrying, moving stuff around, it was taxing.  But, it was a gym day, and since I had my clothes with me, and it normally makes me feel better, I went.  Intending to take it easy, and just work off a little workday stiffness, the treadmill seemed like a great place to start.

Starting slowly, and picking up the pace quickly, it soon became obvious that the workout would be a good one.  I pushed myself, driving my heart rate up, and maintaining it for quite a while.  Repeating this several times, I was sweaty, warm and euphoric.  

My weights on the resistance machines were the highest they have ever been, and I pushed myself to the last possible repetition.   It was exhilarating, and I felt great.  Today, I am a little sore, and stiff.  But, it is rejuvenating, I feel so good about my efforts.  If you are thinking about starting to work out, you should jump in, slowly, steadily, and knowing you will not regret it.

Last nights podcast was a repeat, "Prophet's of Doom" from Hardcore History, by Dan Carlin.  This was the podcast that kicked off my whole, unhealthy obsession with history.  Mr. Carlin is so enthusiastic about the past, it is unshakable.  This podcast is about the city of Munster, in Germany, and the events that led to the execution of several people for heresy, and sedition.  It was a pretty hideous execution.   But, the events that led to the occupation, eventual siege and capture of the city were, to me, as compelling as the events in Munster. 

This podcast explains in some detail the reasons for, and results of, the Protestant Reformation.  Dan Carlin is an expert at building tension, and a fantastic story teller who seems to love his craft.  I have listened to his entire catalog.

Looking back, the Protestant Reformation kicked over an apple cart filled with momentous events, and radical change.  Luther set off a firestorm of change that had effects that are impossible to measure, even today.  And, there are very few podcasts on the subject.  

That is the problem with history, there is so much of it.  So many things happened, and all of them probably affected the world in ways that are still felt today.  Even if you disregard the influence events had on our world there is still a lot of terribly interesting,l terrible,  things that happened in the past.  

Assyrians did not negotiate much.

That is the problem with podcasts, there aren't enough of them explaining things that happened so long ago.  Yes, there are some very good series, but there they barely scratch the surface of times past.

Take, for example, the Assyrians.  A fascinating story of a state gone from merchantry to militancy, learning the best ways to reduce resistance and encourage compliance along the way.  There are just not many good podcasts about them.  So, I have to resort to reading books, printed on paper, like an animal.  This is crazy.  What's next, cave paintings?

One Month of Exercise, and Gathering Momentum.

Last night was a month of going to the gym.  And here is a little secret.  I am really enjoying the experience.  Today I said to my wife, "only one more day this week, and it is a gym day, so I can get through that."  You might be thinking, "hey, Tim, it is only Thursday, so you have two more days, I know you are awful at math, but this might be a new low."

True, my friend, too true, all of the above, I am awful at math, it is only Thursday, and there are two whole work days left.  Let me explain my "reasoning" though.  Once the alarm succeeds in waking, and forcing me from the safety and comfort of a warm, wonderful bed that day no longer counts.  Since the worst part, the alarm, is over the rest of the day is just a walk down life's path to the next loving embrace of sleep.

I have this theory that we need to change the way time is measured.  Instead of the traditional passing of days, we need to measure it in Alarm Clock occurrences.  You see, alarm clocks are the number one cause of death in the "civilized" world, causing more stress related illness than morning production meetings, or dentist appointments.  Not that any society that uses alarm clocks should be called "civilized!"  Ungodly, evil things, the work of Satan, I am sure...  Ooops, sorry, I have a series of posts planned for my "More efficient method of measuring time, and its passing."  You will want to stay tuned for that.

Anyway, tomorrow is Friday, which is great, and a workout day which is great, too.  I really look forward to the exertion, and work.  Exercise carries its own rewards, helps reduce stress, and it just makes me feel better.  I take the stairs at work more, and bring vegetables in my lunch.  I have become the kind of person I used to ridicule.  And, I don't care.

Last night was "Siege Warfare" from "Ancient Warfare Magazine" and a long run on the treadmill.  It turns out that sometimes the forces inside the city won because the surrounding army would run out of food.  This was surprising.  Most times you read about the besieged people starving, maybe that makes more compelling history.  Often negotiations ended the siege long before either side had a chance to run out of most things, and if negotiations failed both sides employed espionage to win the day.  What the world needs, really, is more history podcasts.  Somebody should look into that.

My oldest son, who has been going to the gym for quite a while told me I should push myself a little harder when using the resistance machines.  He feels that 10 repetitions (reps to us workout guys) should be all you can accomplish, that if you are not straining to get the last one, there is not enough weight.  So last night I added twenty pounds to everything.  I found out my oldest son can be a jerk.  When I was done my sides ached, and my arms and legs were like lead.  But, this morning, I feel really good.  Maybe he isn't so bad, after all.

But, enough about me.  What did you bring for lunch today?

Working Out, A Great Idea.

Mike, my cousin, or as we know him in the family, Beautiful Mike, or as some of his Facebook Friends seem to know him, Stubborn Mike, asked for "gym motivation tips."  He is trying to find a way to talk himself into going back to the gym and working out.  My tip was to tell everybody he knows he is going and he is going to make them all pay dearly when he reaches sufficient macho, masculine beefy, testosterone fueled meanness.  Only part of it was a joke.

Threatening people is a bad idea, just read the "Guns of August."  But, telling everybody you are going to start working out is a great idea.  When I decided to quit smoking I told everybody, then I really had to give it my best effort.  Nobody wants to answer the question, "how are you today?" with;

"Oh, I am a miserable failure, I tried to quit smoking but only lasted for a couple of hours before I rushed out, bought a carton and three disposable lighters, (one glows in the dark, just in case) my nerves were shot, and I was an emotional basket case." 

"Wow, I am very sorry to hear that.  Do you want me to leave room for cream, or sugar in your coffee, sir?"  That is so humiliating, trust me, I know. 

So telling people you are working out is a good way to get yourself to the gym.  After a few visits it is easy.  You want to go, it is like an addiction.  It makes you feel good.  It is hard not to go.  Last night was Monday, and I had not been there since Friday, and I was happy walking in the door.  

Unfortunately, it was packed with people and I had to use a recumbent exercise bike.  It was my first time on that machine, with luck it will be my last.  As soon as an elliptical machine was open I made the move.  Having hit my target heart rate twice on each machine, and maintaining it for quite a while, I felt good.  

I added at least thirty pounds to each of the resistance machines, and tried a new exercise.  Instead of pusing the levers forward on the Pec Fly machine you face the other direction and pull backward, working on something in your upper back, or shoulders, or something else, I am not sure.  It did not go very well.  Either I was doing something drastically wrong, or need a lot of work on the upper back, shoulder, or other portion.  

Working out, if done correctly, is also a great educational tool.  Last night the podcast covered the ancient Assyrian army.  A lethal, efficient, brutal, efficient organization.  Assyria was the first Middle Eastern Empire to maintain a standing army.  Before that it was more like a seasonal gig for farmers in the off season.  Idle hands are the devils plaything, right?  So, put the farmers to work attacking another country.  Plant, grow, harvest, invade (or defend), repeat.

Assyria was also one of the first armies to master siege craft.  Walls were the weapons of choice for most City States of the time, and they were mostly successful.  Not against the Assyrians, though.

Anyway, whatever it takes, get started, that is the hard part.  Continuing is easy, fun, and will help you live a longer, better life.  And, if you do it right, you might even learn something.

Workouts, Motivation, and Wilson Pickett.

Today, for the 2nd week in a row, I am going to the gym on consecutive days.  Weather has caused me this painful collision, closing school on Monday, and the gym is hidden safely away on the second floor.

Which is convenient since there are about 100 stairs between floors, it has to be about 75 feet high.  It is a good way to start an evening of painful exertion, hauling my tired, overweight, middle aged, working class existence up that mountain.

It is even worse on the way down.  Rubbery legs from the elliptical trainer, dizzy from the rarified air at that height, arms shaking, and shoulders sore from the resistance machine and steps disappearing into the mist and fog below, are a recipe for disaster.

You know, they should open a little bakery on the landing between floors.  Stop, have a pastry, some coffee, chat with the other climbers.  "Hey, I saw a Yeti on the South Face.  Big, angry looking thing, maybe it was a math teacher, I am not sure.  Either way it was terrifying.  Why yes, a cheese danish would be splendid."

It would require a few extra minutes on the treadmill, but friendship and society are important, too.  Plus, the school would make quite a bit of money, (education is important, too) and cheese danish are delicious.

Anyway, I am off to the gym tonight, with a new plan.  Motivational pod cast  "The Daily Boost:  Daily Motivation | Life Skills | Job Motivation | Goal Setting | Health and Wellness."  That is a lot, yes, but I am not going to try to do all of them tonight.

I will work on (listen to) "How to stay on course with your goals."  I have a little trouble with that.  And "How to succeed without being perfect."  I am neither perfect, nor successful, maybe tomorrow.  These should give me some insight into what I have been doing wrong, or right, or both.

One thing that always motivates me, though, is my wife is often still there.  And seeing her smiling face makes me want to live longer.  And exercise is one way to get there.

To start off with the right attitude I plan to listen to Wilson Pickett tell us about the "Land of 1,000 Dances."

Everybody should want to "Pony like Bony Maronie."  After that I may not need any more motivation, but it is available, just in case.  Thank you, Mr. Pickett.

If you are working out tonight, have fun, if you have some great music, or pod cast to keep you going let me know, and if you see a Yeti, get a picture, and an autograph, it would be worth some serious coin.

 

Day Five at the Gym, or How to Battle an Angry, Overly Caffeinated Coworker.

Yesterday, I went to the gym.  This is not a big deal, but it was the first visit on consecutive days.  This is not a big deal for most people, but it was huge for me.  Working out is work, and it requires commitment, and a willingness to go two days in a row seems a good omen.

My gym, and in between
the machines you can see
my exercise cycle

There were several people, but it was not crowded.  "My treadmill" was in use, so I took "My exercise cycle," plugged in my podcast about the the Battle of Little Bighorn, (the Protestant Reformation is not a popular podcast subject, despite the influence it had on organized religion, and history) and I was off.  Pedaling, listening, and breathing.  Breathing is an involuntary reflex, it just happens, it doesn't require any thought, or input.  Thinking about it, though, is such a good idea.

Several years ago I attended Tae Kwon Do classes.  When I joined it was with superhero dreams.  Righting wrongs, defending the weak, being the voice of those who could not be heard, leaving a stream of broken, bleeding bullies, and criminals in my wake.  It didn't quite work out that way, though.  It was a lot of fun, some good exercise, and it taught me that breathing, in stressful situations, should be an interactive exercise.

When confronted by an angry co-worker, for example, accusations flying, "you drank the last of the coffee, and didn't make more, you slimy, worthless dog."  Here, I am compelled to point out, I like dogs, there is even a dog working in my department, say hello, Mr. Dog.  It is only the fictitious coworker, enraged by the lack of coffee, who is using the word dog as an insult.  This coworker, who is not based on any of my coworkers by the way, may have had enough coffee already.  As evidenced by the anger at having to brew a pot, which is not really all that difficult...  Wait.  Sorry.  Where were we?

Oh yes, breathing.  Anyway, tension, or fear, create a reaction, and breathing becomes rapid, and shallow.  It is probably useful, primal, helping to generate adrenaline or something, that at some point in our evolution helped us survive.  But, if a person who is tense, or frightened, concentrates on breathing, focusing on deep breaths, it will add oxygen to the blood stream, helping them relax, and maintain control.  Plus, it allows a distraction from the physical demands of "interval training."

Instead of thinking that I had reached my target heart rate, and could wind down, concentrating on breathing, focusing on each breath, allowed me to push a little farther, last a few minutes longer.  Making the pain the next day even more excruciating, just kidding, it is almost tolerable.  But, I finished the cardio portion of my workout, made a round through the resistance machines, and went home a little sore, a lot happy, and worried about the motives of mankind.

It seems a lot of the problems Custer faced in that battle may have been caused by political differences.  Turns out President Grant didn't care much General Custer, Custer had testified against Grant's Bureau of Indian Affairs, something to do with corruption.  Grant punished him by relieving him of command, a phrase that seems a little silly, it is probably not a relief at all, which is what makes it a punishment.  Of course, another reason for Grant's disdain may have been Custer's aversion to following orders.  And, he may not have been following orders when he attacked.  But, he has probably been punished enough for that indiscretion.

I am taking today off, no gym for me.  Tomorrow night I will be relaxing in style.  Feet up, working on my "New Improved Company Newsletter."  And looking for a podcast for tomorrow night, if you have any suggestions, please let me know.

The Aerobics of Terror, Why I Love the Gym.

Normally, on Tuesday I don't go the gym.  Since I skipped Monday I decided to go workout.

In all fairness, Monday was not all lounging, television and potato chips.  We (my son and I) went and hiked through the wilds of Central Ohio. Here are pictures to prove it, looks pretty wild, yes? It was treacherous, and kind of cold, and the stairs (yes, we build stairs in the untamed forests in Central Ohio, we are not animals, you know?) were steep, and parts of the path were icy and slick.  But, similar to Lewis and Clark  we persevered, and came out, more or less, unscathed, on the other side.

Plus, there is the aerobics of terror, from grocery shopping.  My wife asked us to stop at the store, and pick up a few things.  No problem.  Normally she does not trust me with a very long list, so a basket is all that is needed.  With a basket a shopper remains mobile, elusive, a moving target, bobbing and weaving, dancing around the malevolent, grabbing some coffee, and skipping out of the line of fire.

Monday, though, there were three 12 packs of soft drinks (I am not going to enter into that rancorous, venomous soda vs. pop vs. cola debate, nor I am going to endorse a brand unless they offer me some incentive (take that Coke, (oh, dammit!))) so I was weighed down by a cart.  I was at the mercy of other, more experienced shoppers.

Cruising down the aisle for tortillas, and moving slow, cautious, I stopped and picked up our brand, on sale great! and moved on.  A woman who was maneuvering her shopping cart behind me decided to take me on the left.  She swung out, and began to pass me, so I stopped, sensing a multi cart pile up, and the ensuing chaos, plus, it might crush my Frito Scoops (also on sale, hooray!).  The minute I stopped, she stopped, just to my left, glaring hatefully at me, her hand came up and she pointed her finger at me, the nail long, filed sharp, and painted blood red, her hand was shaking with homicidal rage.  Angrily, bitterly, indignantly, she said "I want to get a bag of salted pretzel twists behind you."

Anyway, I went to the gym last night.  I tried something new.  Instead of listening to a podcast I turned on some music.  A bad idea.

I am too easily influenced, too prone to suggestion.  I started with a little Van Morrison, slow, melodic, and pleasing, the treadmill and I were one.  Southern Cross, came next and we hit our stride, a nice pace, just cruising.  But, next was the Blues rocker James Cotton singing "Cotton Mouth Man."  We were rocking, and rolling, by the time he sang "People shouted mercy, these blues can not be healed," I was going about 45 miles an hour, people were staring at me, probably because of my joints screaming in protest.

But, I will go again tonight, podcast loaded up, tonight it will be about the "Protestant Reformation," a fascinating part of history.

Bad news, my boss has given me permission to write a company newsletter, and once it is finished I will post it here, with her permission of course.  So, keep your eyes open for that, if you dare.  See, Mike, I told you I was going to start my own newsletter.

Workout # 3, Another Step in a Long Walk

Yesterday was day three at the gym.  It was my first feeble attempt at circuit training.  Unfortunately, when I got there my treadmill was taken, it isn't technically mine, it is just the one I used on my first two visits.  And, here it was, working someone else's lungs to the point of exploding.  Without even glancing at me as I walked through the door.  It was with a heavy heart that I moved to an exercise bike.

I turned on "Genghis Khan" from the "In Our Time Archive: History."  A podcast from BBC Radio 4.  Sitting down I started peddling and listening to the articulate, measured British voices talk about the bloodthirsty ruler.

An exercise bike is a unique machine, it has buttons that control levels of difficulty, and buttons that have cryptic labels, "Calorie Burn," and "Hills."  I tried all of them.  Some of them had immediate and obvious effects, and some of them seemed to do nothing.  There was a fan button, and it turned on a fan.  I used that.

 I did "interval training."  Raising my heart rate, and then slowing down, and then starting over again.  Until my legs hurt, and my breath was ragged, but, I kept working.  It was rewarding.

Moving from "Interval Training," to "Circuit Training," was made difficult by the addition of a meddlesome woman, moving from machine to machine.  Similar to a bee, flitting from flower to flower, never stopping, never landing, just staying in each place long enough to be in the way.

Here is the odd part, it was the same woman who was using "my treadmill."  Well, not technically my treadmill, but she was the one who started my session so poorly.  Now she was trying to ruin the end, too.

Being a keen observer of human nature and patterns it was not difficult to notice that she would use a machine for the briefest time, buzz over to the non toxic orange based cleaner, and flit back to the machine.  She would spend minutes disinfecting the machine, seat, handles, arm rests, any part th9at she may have had contact with.  She worked much harder cleaning than exercising.  Exercise is exercise, though, and she was exercising, and the machines sparkled.

Waiting, and watching, an ambush predator, the Eastern Green Mamba of the small, private gym.  As soon as she made her move toward the spray bottle, and small damp towel, I leaped on a machine and started pulling the handles back, like a mania.  After reading the instructions, and adjusting the weight,  of course.   I am not sure what the machine was called, but it worked my shoulders, and back and felt good.

Meanwhile, the treadmill interloper hovered relentlessly, bottle in one hand, towel in the other.  Cleaning the machines on either side, you could hear the high pitched buzzing, and sense the anger.  Through my earbuds came the story of Temujin, whose Father was poisoned by the Tatars, after which he was abandoned on the steppes, a harsh, forbidding place.  It was a rough way to start life.

His family was attacked and his wife was kidnapped.  He survived, and formed a kinship with other nomads of the Steppe, and eventually avenged the attack on his family, liberated his wife, and stomped the livin' bejesus out of the people who made the mistake of attacking him.  He grew up to have the largest contiguous empire in history.

And, I thought, what would the Mighty Khan do if he were being kept from working out by a germaphobe with a bottle of cleaner, a small towel smelling of slightly rotted citrus?   Would the Flail of God wait patiently to use the Lat Pull Down machine?  Would he have used an exercise bike if someone else was using his treadmill?   Would the conqueror of most of China and the Middle East wait patiently, sipping water, and pretending to catch his breath when he wanted to work his deltoids?

Probably not, from what I understand he was not very patient, or understanding.  Mostly, he seems to have been a man of action.  But, I waited, and I worked my shoulders, I don't know which parts or muscles, or any of the technical stuff, but it felt good.  I will go back, Monday.  Genghis Khan and I are not the type to give up.

Working out with the Oldies, way back to 438 AD

Yesterday was the day.  It was kind of frightening.  It is a room full of machines, I am not comfortable with machinery.  But, a resolution requires some sacrifice.

Fluorescent lights are activated by motion detectors, which is a little creepy, a high tech solution to energy waste, and I am not very comfortable with technology.   But, a resolution requires some resolve.

The smell of antiseptic cleaner was subtle, but there, leaving the nagging question, is that really necessary? What kind of germy people were using these machines, exhaling, and grabbing with bacteria covered hands, you could almost hear the staph infections skittering across the floor, I am not really comfortable with germs, and infections.  But, a resolution requires some stupidity

A treadmill was a good choice, not much risk of looking foolish walking, right?  There is a whole row of treadmills, lined up neatly, facing the window, which looks over the street.  But, the panel was filled with buttons, and words, and choices, so I asked for help.

Since I was the only person, stupidity would have been magnified, and letting a machine outsmart me would have been a source of great mirth at the next meeting of physical fitness coordinators.  She explained the machine, it was not really difficult, this button starts it, this button speeds it up, or slows it down, this button raises or lowers the incline, and, all important, this button stops it.

Great, but there were a bunch of buttons, and lights, and things, what about those?  I didn't ask, maybe it is best not to know, maybe she would say, "don't worry about those, fat boy, you can't handle those buttons."

So, we started, me and the machine, and it was good.  I walked comfortably for a while, listening to a podcast, about Rome, which is a lot more interesting than you might imagine, at least it is a lot more interesting than I imagined.  Soon I realized that it was too interesting, and I was there to "work" out, so I pushed the button to increase the speed.

"Hey, this is good," I thought.  I was working, and it was good.  So, I raised the incline, and it felt good, the pace was pretty brisk, and the angle was, well, not flat, anyway.  After raising both again it was better.  I went for a while, working, and breathing, and feeling pretty good about myself.  Not quite so good about Romulus Augustulus (more on that later), though.

After cooing down, I stopped, a little sore, a little winded, and very happy that I had started.  I asked the attendant about combining some resistance training, and she said that was a good idea.  But, most important she said was to keep trying, anything was better than nothing, and she recommended "intervals."  Which, from her explanation, sound devilish, and difficult, but I will give them a shot.  She finished with the advice, "Anything is better than nothing, so don't give up."  And, it hit me, starting was important, but continuing, that is where the difference lies.

Tomorrow, I am returning, with a renewed vigor, a better plan, and a Visigoth podcast, or maybe something about Vikings.  If you know any good podcasts about Vikings, Visigoths, Vandals or Huns, please let me know, before Wednesday.