PIMPING IRON

I’m averse to sweating and heavy breathing – except in certain very specific contexts, you understand – and thus I must force myself to go to the local gym to get my Exercise Ration.

Thank Gawd for the iPod, for without that, I would go out of my mind.

There is something positive about the gym environment, though. Not only do you get to enjoy the sight of all those well-toned young ladies, pumping iron in their short pants, but there’s a sense of camaraderie, of shared misery. All for one and one for all.

Which explains why the equipment I have in the basement tends to sit there, unused. I have a fine recumbent bicycle which works just fine, despite its lacking all the bells and whistles the newer models may sport. And there’s a treadmill, which would be easier to use if one didn’t have to navigate the piles of boxes and Miscellaneous Basement Crap surrounding it…and sitting on it.

I have to admire anybody who is willing to muster the self-discipline to use training equipment at home. It’s even more impressive when someone is willing to go the extra mile and brave incomprehensible instructions and a complete lack of mechanical aptitude in order to assemble one of those medieval torture devices.

But I’m sure the rewards will be worth it. Better muscle tone, cardiovascular fitness, and a sculpted bod – why, I should run out and get one myself!