I recently resumed workouts with my trainer, Grizelda the Queen Witch of the Northwest.
Witch, I said.
No, Grizelda is not really her name. But it’s what I call her when I am face down on the floor, exhausted, breathing up carpet lint and dust bunnies, wondering if my heart is about to explode, while she orders me to get my big carcass up and give her another 20 squats.
I know, I know. I’m the one who let myself get this way. Where once I had a large, but reasonably fit physique, now I look like something that got away from a Thanksgiving Day parade. Where once I had muscles you could actually see, now I have a thick coating of what I like to call insulation. Where once I could walk for hours and come back feeling invigorated, I can’t stroll around the block without feeling like I’ve just marched to Fort Zinderneuf and back.
And it’s my own fault. Well, mine and my traitorous body’s.
It happened a couple of years ago when I had eye trouble, thyroid trouble, and heart trouble in quick succession. I stopped training and filled the empty time with eating. Lots of eating. Basically, I stuffed my face with every example of junk food on the planet, with special concentrations on the M&M; and Dorito food groups.
Fast forward to last year and the scene where Mike steps on the scales at the doctor’s office and, after flinging the weights further and further to the right-hand side, the nurse lets out a low whistle and a “Wowie.”
Finally, I began to realize that there were certain problems that Oreos could not fix. I know, it’s hard to believe. But it’s true.
This led to hooking back up with Griz and resuming what some call “working out” and what I call Death By Sweat.
A typical session begins with what Grizelda says is stretching. Ha. By the time she’s finished, the footbone is no longer connected to the ankle bone, the ankle bone is no longer connected to the leg bone, and so on. I’m not stretched. I’m dissembled.
“Doesn’t that feel great?” she enthuses as she sticks my right foot in back of my left ear. I presume she’s talking to herself.
From there we move on to exercises, mostly of the dumbbell sort. And yes, I’m talking about me. I was a dumbbell for ever letting this happen in the first place.
We also do some work with the gym-type dumbbells. Well, it feels like work to me, anyway. And of course, Griz serves as inspiration when, after putting me through punishing sets of bicep curls and tricep kickbacks that turn my arms into noodles, she takes the dumbbells from my hands and starts twirling them in her fingers, like batons. The show-off.
So where’s all this exercise going to take me? Beats me. Someplace healthy, I hope. Someplace where I can enjoy my life more and not feel like the Economy Size Tub O’ Lard. Someplace where I can see my shoes.
And someplace where my legs don’t turn to jelly when Grizelda makes me pick up the weights and go through another set of squats. She says we’ll get there soon. I trust she’s right. She’s the expert on exercise. I don’t know ... well, squat.
I'm old, white, and male. Three strikes and I'm out - disqualified, according to today's identity police, from having any legitimate opinions or making any pronouncements about race in an increasingly race-obsessed presidential campaign.
Welcome, friends! It's time once again for that fabulous game show: "App or No App!" The show where you decide if the app (short for application because that is way too long of a word) is real or not real. Today we explore the wonderful world of Facebook apps! Join us, won't you?
When it comes to the pantheon of Hoosier sports heroes - Johnny Wooden, Knute Rockne, Bob Knight, Larry Bird, Reggie Miller, Rick Mount, Bobby Plump, George Gipp - the newest name will certainly be Peyton Manning.
I realize this is a sentiment usually expressed by people who wear colanders on their heads in order to keep the CIA from reading their thoughts. That, of course, is just ridiculous. The CIA does not read people's brain waves. Queen Elizabeth does.
Mitt Romney summoned all the righteous indignation he could muster after a Newt Gingrich ad called him "anti-immigrant." Romney blasted the ad shortly afterward in an interview: "It's just inappropriate."
The city where I hang my shingle, or would if I did something shingleworthy, is all abuzz with excitement over the SuperDuper Bowl, which is coming to town one of these days soon. I forget which.
Have you heard anyone say it lately? I'm guessing you have. I'm guessing everyone within a 100-mile radius of Indianapolis has heard it many times over the past month and will probably hear it a zillion times over the next week. I just hope there are no casualties.
Rich Lowry and Brian Howey have each had commentaries in the Hendricks County Flyer that were a great PR job for Gov. Mitch Daniels. However, the recent Indiana unemployment drop from 10.5 percent to 9.8 percent was probably the result of the Bush and Obama bailout of GM and Chrysler, discouraged job applicants dropping out of the labor force (100,000 manufacturing jobs were eliminated since Daniels' election and prior to the financial/banking crises in 2008), imported cheap foreign labor (some who are illegal), and the Obama stimulus ($11 million in Hendricks County instead of collecting impact fees on new development) including energy grants and tax cuts for the middle class.
Commentary
Death by sweat
I recently resumed workouts with my trainer, Grizelda the Queen Witch of the Northwest.
Witch, I said.
No, Grizelda is not really her name. But it’s what I call her when I am face down on the floor, exhausted, breathing up carpet lint and dust bunnies, wondering if my heart is about to explode, while she orders me to get my big carcass up and give her another 20 squats.
I know, I know. I’m the one who let myself get this way. Where once I had a large, but reasonably fit physique, now I look like something that got away from a Thanksgiving Day parade. Where once I had muscles you could actually see, now I have a thick coating of what I like to call insulation. Where once I could walk for hours and come back feeling invigorated, I can’t stroll around the block without feeling like I’ve just marched to Fort Zinderneuf and back.
And it’s my own fault. Well, mine and my traitorous body’s.
It happened a couple of years ago when I had eye trouble, thyroid trouble, and heart trouble in quick succession. I stopped training and filled the empty time with eating. Lots of eating. Basically, I stuffed my face with every example of junk food on the planet, with special concentrations on the M&M; and Dorito food groups.
Fast forward to last year and the scene where Mike steps on the scales at the doctor’s office and, after flinging the weights further and further to the right-hand side, the nurse lets out a low whistle and a “Wowie.”
Finally, I began to realize that there were certain problems that Oreos could not fix. I know, it’s hard to believe. But it’s true.
This led to hooking back up with Griz and resuming what some call “working out” and what I call Death By Sweat.
A typical session begins with what Grizelda says is stretching. Ha. By the time she’s finished, the footbone is no longer connected to the ankle bone, the ankle bone is no longer connected to the leg bone, and so on. I’m not stretched. I’m dissembled.
“Doesn’t that feel great?” she enthuses as she sticks my right foot in back of my left ear. I presume she’s talking to herself.
From there we move on to exercises, mostly of the dumbbell sort. And yes, I’m talking about me. I was a dumbbell for ever letting this happen in the first place.
We also do some work with the gym-type dumbbells. Well, it feels like work to me, anyway. And of course, Griz serves as inspiration when, after putting me through punishing sets of bicep curls and tricep kickbacks that turn my arms into noodles, she takes the dumbbells from my hands and starts twirling them in her fingers, like batons. The show-off.
So where’s all this exercise going to take me? Beats me. Someplace healthy, I hope. Someplace where I can enjoy my life more and not feel like the Economy Size Tub O’ Lard. Someplace where I can see my shoes.
And someplace where my legs don’t turn to jelly when Grizelda makes me pick up the weights and go through another set of squats. She says we’ll get there soon. I trust she’s right. She’s the expert on exercise. I don’t know ... well, squat.
© 2009 Mike Redmond. All Rights Reserved.
I'm old, white, and male. Three strikes and I'm out - disqualified, according to today's identity police, from having any legitimate opinions or making any pronouncements about race in an increasingly race-obsessed presidential campaign.
February 7, 2012
Welcome, friends! It's time once again for that fabulous game show: "App or No App!" The show where you decide if the app (short for application because that is way too long of a word) is real or not real. Today we explore the wonderful world of Facebook apps! Join us, won't you?
February 6, 2012
When it comes to the pantheon of Hoosier sports heroes - Johnny Wooden, Knute Rockne, Bob Knight, Larry Bird, Reggie Miller, Rick Mount, Bobby Plump, George Gipp - the newest name will certainly be Peyton Manning.
February 6, 2012
You have to be careful what you say these days.
I realize this is a sentiment usually expressed by people who wear colanders on their heads in order to keep the CIA from reading their thoughts. That, of course, is just ridiculous. The CIA does not read people's brain waves. Queen Elizabeth does.
February 3, 2012
Mitt Romney summoned all the righteous indignation he could muster after a Newt Gingrich ad called him "anti-immigrant." Romney blasted the ad shortly afterward in an interview: "It's just inappropriate."
February 3, 2012
The city where I hang my shingle, or would if I did something shingleworthy, is all abuzz with excitement over the SuperDuper Bowl, which is coming to town one of these days soon. I forget which.
January 31, 2012
A man once said, "those who don't learn from the past are doomed to repeat it."
January 31, 2012
President Barack Obama is making his re-election about raising the taxes of an Omaha billionaire who is volunteering for the honor.
January 31, 2012
"Have a super day!"
Have you heard anyone say it lately? I'm guessing you have. I'm guessing everyone within a 100-mile radius of Indianapolis has heard it many times over the past month and will probably hear it a zillion times over the next week. I just hope there are no casualties.
January 27, 2012
Rich Lowry and Brian Howey have each had commentaries in the Hendricks County Flyer that were a great PR job for Gov. Mitch Daniels. However, the recent Indiana unemployment drop from 10.5 percent to 9.8 percent was probably the result of the Bush and Obama bailout of GM and Chrysler, discouraged job applicants dropping out of the labor force (100,000 manufacturing jobs were eliminated since Daniels' election and prior to the financial/banking crises in 2008), imported cheap foreign labor (some who are illegal), and the Obama stimulus ($11 million in Hendricks County instead of collecting impact fees on new development) including energy grants and tax cuts for the middle class.
January 27, 2012
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