UPDATED UPDATE: Those of you who visit this page occasionally may have noticed I stopped writing. Yeah…it’s because I stopped exercising over Christmas. But I started again! More posts are on the way-though to be honest, I won’t be writing every time I go to the clubhouse. There’s only so many times I can make fun of the Alpha Male or my own weakness. So it will be updated when something funny happens, hopefully once a week with the regular part of the blog. As always, thanks for reading!
January 29, 2015
All is lost! All is in vain! I shall grow fat eating bon bons on the couch!
I suppose I should explain. A week and a half ago I went to the clubhouse and began my workout. I was starting to see some slight but noticeable improvement when I looked in a mirror, so I was happy. Everything was going great, I was feeling good. Then…
I don’t know what it is. I just know that it hurts, and I want to cry like a baby after his pacifier has been taken away. It’s in the chest region, but affects my arm as well. I haven’t been able to do anything except the occasional sit up since. I hate my life.
I’m hoping to start up again next week.
January 17, 2015
My roommates have abandoned me. In the last two weeks I’ve had exactly one workout session when one roommate (just one) has come. He wanted to go in the morning, and I didn’t because there are more people there. But I wanted the company, so I went.
I am the Sunday School President in the local LDS Ward, and I am in charge of making sure there are classes held each Sunday. I ran into one of my teachers there, which was good because I needed someone to teach that weekend. He said yes, but was a little distracted for some reason.
I went happily today, determined to make up for the disaster that was my last exercise. My roommate was still not there, so I ventured alone to the clubhouse. I was doing really well! The elliptical has been tamed, thanks to my assault on Day 15, and I was able to use the other machines without incident.
Then Taylor Swift came on the radio.
Let me explain: I despise Taylor Swift. She is vain, vapid, and considering the number of boyfriends she’s had, may need professional help. Her songs are dreary and uninspired. But this was a new song.
And I started to hum along as she sang. It was quite catchy. By the end of the song, I was singing out loud, and forced to admit that I actually liked this one!
It was too much for my body to take. I became extremely nauseated and dizzy, and after sitting on the floor for a few minutes while my stomach tried to climb out of my body through my throat, I returned to my apartment, where I sat quietly on the couch, listening to non-Taylor Swift Christmas music; my roommates conferring amongst themselves about taking me to the hospital.
I suffered a massive bodily rebellion while exercising today. After my ten minutes on the elliptical my internal organs staged a violent revolt and caused me to stagger away to my apartment, weeping softly into my sweaty shirt. I surrendered, and I can hardly bare the shame…or the laughter of my roommates, who have mocked me to no end.
My roommate came with this time! He brought his weights, and I made the mistake of laughing at him while he grunted away in the corner. He challenged me to try it out, and I promptly fell over, having been overbalanced. So I stopped laughing and returned to the elliptical, where I remained the rest of the night, listening to my roommate groan across the room.
My roommate seems to have abandoned me. I never see him anymore. Perhaps I smell.
I was having some school and work stress, and so I marched into the clubhouse prepared for war. I leaped onto the elliptical, and attacked it with a ferocity that would have stunned even the Alpha Male. After a few minutes, I began to hear crackling sounds from the internal workings. A most unusual message flashed across the screen:
It’s probably good I did stop, because I wasn’t listening to the warnings my legs were sending me either. I nearly fell to the floor, but managed to attack the weight machines with a similar fierceness. It’s too bad no one else was there. I could probably have been dubbed the Alpha Male!
I walked out, thinking I should shout the cry from an epic movie or something, but all I could come up with was, “For Frodo!” and that was just weird.
Until next time, clubhouse…until next time… which may be a while, because man am I sore.
Um…Hello! My roommate and I were unable to exercise for a week. I was out of town or he had to work, the sun was too bright, etc. I still didn’t know where my roommate was, but I decided to get back in the groove. Sadly, it was at 12:00 at night. Oh well.
I went by myself, and decided I didn’t care HOW girly the elliptical is, I am NOT using that demon treadmill again. Satan himself probably manufactured it, with Beelzebub as the factory foreman in Hell Manufacturing. I was rather enjoying the elliptical- until I looked down and saw the sweat spatter from the four hundred previous occupants of that machine. My Thanksgiving dinner began to churn uncomfortably in my stomach-quite an accomplishment, since this was Friday night.
After the elliptical I went over and began to work on the various weight machines. Some Schwarzeneggian behemoth had set them at or near the maximum; in some cases he had been lifting weights that weighed more than my entire personal body. I actually tried one- I wound up hanging eight inches off the ground, the stationary weights chuckling evilly. Henceforth, he shall be known as the Alpha Male’s Alpha Male (whom I ran into at work the other day. It was embarrassing.) Much of my time was spent rearranging all the equipment- the Alpha Male’s Alpha Male had set them up in strange and arm-ripping-out-of-your-socket configurations.
My arms survived. I walked out of that clubhouse, and made it all the way to my bed before I collapsed in a pile of quivering, unhappy muscles.
I received a text from my roommate, asking if we could not do it today; he was watching Guardians of the Galaxy with his family. I made him feel intensely guilty, but said okay.
Unfortunately, he has created a monster. I went by myself, and sent him this picture.
“Wish you were here!”
I decided not to use the stair stepper, and got on the treadmill. It wasn’t that bad, I thought. Actually pretty easy. Then I pressed start. I had set it to go much faster than I meant to, and within two minutes I was forced to seize control of the handrail so I wouldn’t go flying off. I couldn’t figure out how to slow it down! I considered screaming for help, but I was alone. So alone…
After ten minutes of torturous terror, the machine finally shut itself off and I staggered away, weeping softly.
I went about my usual activities. I’m getting better at this: I only climbed into one machine wrong. I nearly knocked it over, which made me glad I was alone.
I walked away after a half hour, feeling immensely proud and self important. Then one of my other roommates informed me that I hadn’t been using a stair stepper: it was called an elliptical.
Oh well. I’m learning, and that’s all that matters. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself…
On day 2 my abdominal muscles sent a strongly worded letter threatening to pop out of my body and form their own person if I ever treated them so badly again. They are rather important to me, so I took it easy on them today.
I trudged with my roommate into the empty clubhouse, and used the stair stepper again. Every time I use it I feel like my (admittedly small amount) of manliness is leeching away. Here I am plodding away like an old woman, bouncing up and down on the equipment! Jazzercize!
It didn’t help with the arrival of the Happy Healthy Married Couple. They got on the treadmills as I left the stepper to try out some other fancy doohickeys-specifically the ones the Alpha Male had been hogging last time.
It immediately became clear that no one had used them since the Alpha Male, because when I tried them out I nearly gave myself a hernia. I had forgotten to check the settings.
My roommate took pity on me as I examined the other ones and tried to insert myself backwards in them. “No,” he said quietly, trying not to alert the Happy Healthy Married Couple that he was with this dimwit, “put your legs where your arms are.”
At that point the Happy Healthy Married Couple began to complain that using gym equipment was actually “cheating.” They felt like losers for even stepping in here, but as it was eleven o’clock at night they didn’t want to get mugged or something by jogging for reals. Jerks.
I continued, glaring at the Happy Healthy Married Couple whenever their back was turned, and spent the rest of the time listening to my roommate remind me that I needed to breathe. “You can’t hold it in,” he’d say, which earned him his own evil glare whenever HIS back was turned. I don’t know about the rest of my body, but my facial muscles got a real workout.
We staggered away after a half hour, the mocking laughter of the Happy Healthy Married Couple echoing behind us.
My attempt to sneak away to my car failed. My roommate dragged me into the clubhouse by the scruff of my neck and I gazed in bewilderment at the various instruments, all with their pulleys and levers.
The only one I knew how to work were the treadmills and stair stepper. My roommate said we should do one of those for about five minutes before “really starting” (heaven help me), so I obediently climbed onto the stair stepper.
It was at this point that the Alpha Male entered. He strutted in, cranked up some horrible gangsta music, and attacked several pieces of equipment as though they had personally wronged him.
My roommate and I spent far longer than five minutes on the treadmills, like bunnies trying not to move in hopes that they won’t get eaten by a bear.
After that I spent the next twenty minutes trying to ignore the Alpha Male’s horrifying display of masculinity, and essentially followed my roommate around, copying everything he was doing. It didn’t work very well, as he was setting all the weight on the equipment to something more appropriate for Hercules than skinny white boys like me. Most of my time was spent decreasing the weights and listening to my bones creak in protest.
We left the Alpha Male, still puffing and huffing away, snared in some strange device, after a half hour. My roommate may or may not have been carrying me back to the apartment.