Saturday, August 19, 2006


I'm not in very good physical condition. I try to swim every day (or so), and I'm sure that is better than nothing, but I think it is too easy to be lazy in the pool. I can just splash from one end to the other without really getting my heart rate up.

Here's a sarcastic little clip I made almost exactly two years ago about my workout routine:

I used to ride a bike as my main form of transportation, but then I quit my job, and suddenly I had nowhere to go. I don't really go out to the pubs anymore, either. Almost all my friends have left, so I've no one to visit. There is just no reason to get on my bike now days. I guess I am not really into bike riding as an end in itself, but only as a mode of transportation. As soon as I had nowhere to go anymore, I stopped riding.

But I digress...

I was talking about how I'm not in very good shape. This is in large part because I drink too much beer all the time. It is also because I find it almost impossible to maintain a fitness regimen for more than a few days at a time. I want to be in good shape, but who's going to do the work?

Well, I recently took the plunge and committed myself to a fitness regime. In addition to my swimming, I've signed up for boxing lessons.

Yes. Boxing.

I know that for those of you who know me it will be hard to believe. I think that there are only three people alive who have ever actually seen me in a fight, and I think that involved more word play than fisticuffs.

All of that is irrelevent, anyway. I'm not in this to kick Marc Issac's ass (he's the guy I had the fight with in 7th grade--I didn't want to fight him, but he was being really antagonistic towards me, and all my friends--well, there were only a few to begin with--told me I had to fight him. So we fought. Neither really landed a punch. It ended. Massive embarassment ensued. We made up senior year, I think).

So, the fighting part of the whole boxing thing is coincidental. I just need someone to crack the whip over my ass and make me sweat a couple times per week. I could have joined an aerobics class (fag), or a yoga class (hippie fag), but instead I decided to take the most masochistic route and don the gloves.

I have now had two classes. I want to die. My entire body feels like it is full of tiny shards of broken glass. In addtion to my physical agony, I know that if I ever had to fight anyone, I would lose. I look like a string puppet guided by a drunk dyslexic when I try to throw combinations. To be honest, I look that way when I just try to thow a single punch. My arms go the wrong way, while my legs go an even wronger way. I can't breathe after two minutes jumping rope, and when the medicine ball lands on my stomach, it is with a combination of a squish and a thud, and then it proceeds to sink towards my spine. I have never sweated so much in my life. When I'm done with the class, it is as if I went swimming in my clothes. Even two hours after the lesson is over my pours are squirting out liquid like I was shot with a cartoon machine gun.

Today coach made me do terrible things with dumbells. It is likely that tomorrow I won't be able to move my arms. He didn't even tell me that I would eat lightning and crap thunder.

Good thing I went bowling last night, because it's going to be a while before I will be able to even lift a bowling ball again.

To give you an idea of the place I take my class, here's a little video of another class in the same gym (this is only the warm-up part of the workout, so no punches are thrown):

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