OUR WORLD:
Yesterday it was announced that Illinois will move into Phase 4 of the “Yeah, whatever” reopening plan this Friday, which means that gyms will be allowed to reopen. These gyms will be asked to limit capacity and do a bunch of weird shit that probably won’t help much at all, and the penalties for not doing this weird shit will be…nothing because how can you enforce any of this? What I don’t think the government and gym owners have realized, though, is that conclusions are reached when patterns of behavior are altered. And Illinoisans, by virtue of the 3 month long “don’t do anything!”-orders, have concluded that paying to go to a gym is a moronic waste of money and we will never do it again.
For people that do value working out and fitness (fuckin’ nerds) the past three months has been about finding other ways to stay in shape and, you know what? They’re preferable! While they do have workout equipment and locker rooms, a gym’s primary function is to put you in close proximity with people with who do things that annoy the EVER-LOVING SHIT OUT OF YOU! Exercise? Yeah, an exercise in self-restraint, maybe. Such as, “if the guy on the elliptical next to me doesn’t stop FaceTiming with his ex-wife, I will NOT kick the outside of his left knee and explode his leg. I will NOT do that! I won’t!” And then, 6 seconds deeper into his FaceTime marriage counseling session, you reconsider and decide that maybe jail is worth it.
By now, we’ve all learned that we can run outside for free! That push-ups and bodyweight exercises are effective, even though they may not look as cool as lifting dumbbells in front of a mirror. You know what you were doing in front of that mirror, right? (Uh…checking my form.) Stop it. You were admiring looking momentarily-yolked while hoping the girl who dates the better-looking, richer, more secure version of yourself, will walk by, catch that same view and…(I don’t know what he’s talking about, honey! I swear, I go to the gym because they have the specific equipment I need to sculpt my traps! I don’t even notice other people there, honestly!)
What else have we all been missing about going to the gym? Well, how can you forget about how relaxing the steam room is, right? You know, that small room where it’s hard to see but easy to smell? That room where you walk in after working out with a towel around your waist, praying to LordBabyJesus that Terry “No Towel” Thompson isn’t sitting, spread-eagle next to the only open slot left. Don’t worry, though, if “No Towel” is taking a day off, there’s sure to be the guy who thinks this room is meant for making new friends! (I like making friends, though…) Yeah because my idea of relaxing after a hard workout is sitting in a superhot, smelly room with the uber driver who is known for having “great conversations!”
Please don’t forget about the people who take naps on equipment you’d like to be using in between their 19 sets. Just ask them if you can hop in for a quick set, right? Nah, you’re forgetting this is the same person who is ALWAYS “I’m almost done.”
“Oh, so that’s a no?”
“Yeah, that’s a no. Now please let me get back to my public nap while wearing a dry-fit shirt THANK YOU VERY FUCKIN MUCH!”
Yeah, but the treadmills with the televisions right on the front are really nice to run on, at least! You’re right! I especially love when the ONE CHANNEL I want to watch is currently scrambled so instead, I get to watch minor-league softball practice on ESPN3 while trying to figure out how to turn off the closed captioning. Now, of course, you could simply go to the front desk and tell them that the only channels that aren’t having seizures are the ones showing “Big Bang Theory” and “Alf”, but you’re forgetting that the front desk employee is required to respond to that with a blank “why would I ever care about that?”-stare. (I miss those stares!)
And finally, before we decide to never walk into one of these rip-off palaces again, do me a favor and remember how great the Wi-Fi is. Whenever there’s more than, I don’t know, ONE PERSON IN THE ENTIRE GYM, the Wi-Fi starts to sputter. So as you’re shaking off the cobwebs from last night’s bender on the creaky elliptical, and juuuuust starting to vibe to that new Weeknd song, it stops and you see the spinny thing next to the little WiFi signal. “Oh cool, I’ll just switch over to data now and run up my already overpriced phone bill! JUST WHAT I WAS HOPING TO ACHIEVE ON THIS FUCKING ELLIPTICAL!”
You know that sense of pride and accomplishment you used to have when walking out of the gym? It wasn’t from having just completed a workout. It was from not hurting yourself or anyone around you while inside that building for the past 64 minutes.
Gyms re-opening? We’re good, but thanks!
Wait…what do you mean I have to call another number and send a fax and an e-mail and a carrier pigeon with a gimpy wing to cancel my membership?
MY WORLD:
Dieting is so fucking frustrating and stupid. It is. It is. IT IS! I have now gone one full week without eating any carbs, and I’m not back to my wedding weight yet. And yes, I have been telling myself, “it’s just one week,” and “this has to be a sustained effort,” and “remember how tight last summer’s shorts felt when you tried them on 9 days ago?” But, last night during an episode of “Ozark”, I saw the kids eating at a greasy hot dog stand, and I immediately stopped paying attention to whatever was happening in the show (Drugs! Guns! Scary!) and just started thinking about how much I love French fries.
Now, even the morning after, as I drink my blandass coffee and prepare for yet another day of zero exciting culinary experiences, French fries are dominating my thought pattern. It does not help, DOES NOT HELP, that I weighed myself over the weekend and I was back at my initial weight even though I’ve been working out AND HAVEN’T CHEATED ONE GODDAMN TIME ON THIS DIET! I’m eating fish and vegetables and zero bread or sugar. I’m drinking water, carbonated water to try and trick myself into thinking it’s soda, white wine, and Michelob Ultras. I haven’t had a craft beer in nearly 2 weeks now, and I WORK FOR A CRAFT BEER COMPANY.
Meanwhile, it appears that I have reached the age where whenever I run, the next morning I will feel like I was in a car crash. The morning after walk down wood stairs is so painful that I have thought about crawling or just giving up completely and not leaving my bed ever again, becoming an ever-expanding blobman and telling my job “why? What’s the point anymore?” I’m 35, not 90, but my morning walks around the house look like I’m trying to recreate a scene from an old monster movie where the monster can’t bend it’s knees and has a permanent pained facial expression.
So since running is so hard on my body now, I do the exercise bike in the basement. I set up my laptop in front of the cheap bike I bought, and follow along to Peloton classes. The instructors are normally really in shape which makes me think, “this shit works!” And while I’m doing them, and sweating like a pigbeast, there’s no way that they’re not going to make me super shredded in no time! But I swear to god, the second I’m done, and have caught my breath again, this demonic brain parasite flies into my ear and infects me with the “Yeah that was cute, but it wasn’t a run”-echo. By the time I trudge my fat, sweaty ass back upstairs the coat of sweat may as well serve as a cloak of “yeah, but I didn’t run”-disappointment.
Am I being dramatic about all of this? Of course, but isn’t there enough awful shit going on right now that I shouldn’t have to also sacrifice eating food that makes me instantly happy? Yeah, there’s the collapsing depression that follows, but what drug is better than a fried potato dipped in sugary red sauce (KETCHUP!)? Or after a long day of working a job that now feels completely different and one thousand percent harder than it was 3 months ago, I get to treat myself with…the LaCroix of beers? I swear, I could drink 18 thousand Michelob Ultra’s, and on Ultra number 17,999, while in the ambulance being rushed to the hospital for “wait, he’s drank how many beers?” I’d still be sober enough to know that Michelob Ultra’s taste like spiked, old-man fart water.
So the diet is going great and I can’t wait to attack the day and enjoy my snack of a handful of mixed nuts in a couple hours!
INITIAL “GREAT, NOW I HAVE TO DIET” WEIGHT: 202.6lbs.
LAST WEIGH IN: I don’t want to put it in writing because if I don’t put it in writing, it’s not real.
LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:
That moment after talking to someone when you’d normally shake hands and now you don’t know what to do so you make some dumb air-five gesture and then want to kill yourself.
LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:
K, bye.
Jimmy's Chair 