I have to go (to the gym) today and as always I have that dreaded pit in my overextended belly. It’s good for you, but how do we really know that? How about if I take a year off and measure the stats? Would I be worse off, the same or possibly even better. Back in the day, there was the Jane Fonda Workout on an eight track. Remember them? I’m sure not, but they looked like this and anyone who had an eight track player didn’t even have to think about going to the gym cuz they were already way too cool for that pit stop.
There was also this dude called Jack La Lanne.
- Now Jack lived to be 96 and worked out until he was 90. I guess that’s one vote for exercising. But who wants to live that long? Not me. What would I do all day? Dribble food and pass gas. It’s already hard to turn off CNN and shower for that trip to the gym. At 96 I won’t even be able to grab the remote.
So my current stats include getting my heart rate up to 125 beats per minute and sustaining it at least ten minutes. Who needs a stress test with that advantage? I never saw Jack on a treadmill or elliptical. All he did was flex. Big whoop. I am sweat’n to the old disco tunes (minus the Jane Fonda headband, of course) and the change in appearance? NOTHING. If I don’t eat for two days, clean out my colon with one of those pills and wrap a latex band around my belly, there’s a slight chance I can get back into a thirty inch waste pair of jeans.
But then what? I can’t do that for the rest of my non-96 year old life. And listen, if you’re under the age of forty, don’t go flash’n your abs in my direction. You’re in a toll booth on the highway to heavy, so get over yourself.
Well I’ve stalled enough. I gotta get ready to do the damn thing. I go at 2:00 every afternoon cuz the only people there at that time are all older than me. Hey, it gives me a mental boost. I might not be in better shape, but I can handle it mentally cuz I’m not tipping the scale.