The thing is - I don't blame you. I might as well be dead to you. Certainly in the world of the internet, with its constant flow of information, when something lies dormant for more than a week it is presumed dead.
A fickle thing, this internet. If someone posts too much they're annoying, if they post too little they're dead. What is the appropriate number of times to write a blog post? Once... twice... three times a week?
What the hell am I even talking about right now? (like I said... vomit.)
So - what's new (I ask as though we're having a two sided conversation)?
I'm working out more lately - and it is this that has inspired me to tippy tap my fingers over this keyboard - because it is a story that almost brought my wife to piss her pants in laughter.
It had been a while since I had last been to the gym. 2010 was one hell of a crazy year. Between buying a house to getting promoted at work to writing one of the largest applications I've ever had to do for my side business... there just wasn't much time for "me".
Well, I knew I was getting a little... um... thick... but it all came to a head about 3 weeks ago. Isabella and I were getting ready to go over to a friends house and I decided that I was going to don a nice turtleneck sweater... one that I know Isabella simply loves because it's a little more fitted than my other clothes. I put on an undershirt, then slipped into this crimson cloth of neck warmth. I put it on... looked down... then looked at Isabella and asked something I probably shouldn't have. Words came out of my mouth as though I were a little self conscious bitch.
Oh wait... I am.
I asked, "Honey... are these pecks or man boobs"?
...
... (this is her long pause)
" uh.... pe... well they're like... they're pecks..."
"you sure? they look like tits to me."
"Well yeah... uh... squishy pecks"
I have titties.
It's one thing to look into a mirror and joke with yourself on how big of a lard-ass you are... but when your wife pauses before answering the manboobs v. pecks question - you know you TRUELY are a fat snack.That day we signed up for memberships at Golds Gym.
Fast forward one week from that day. Remember how I said I used to work out? Well I sort of remembered the weights I used to lift then so I figured I'd start there, right?
After a nice warm up of running at the blazing pace of a 12 minute mile (did I say I was running or walking... I forget) - I headed on over to one of the peck machines (anti-tit machines is how I like to think of them). I sit down and stared at the big stack of weights for a while and started hating the previous meat head to use the machine. Really, jackass? You had to push 250lbs right before I sat down?
Did I used to do 80? 90? lbs on this machine back in the day? Or was it 100... yeah... I'm huge and ripped it had to have been 100. Since this is my first day back maybe I'll dial it down to a cool 80.
I proceed to take the peg out of the 250 slot, cursing the unknown person before me as I move it up 170lbs of plates.... that asshole...
Whatever... on to me and un-man-titting myself. 80lbs - here we go.
With a confidence of 1000 muscle men, I grab the bars and give a good push. I'm not sure if it was my confidence or my arrogance which prevented me from realizing the weight was at the top of my limit until I was fully extended. I do know that I had fully extended and had immediately started hating myself as I wanted to cry, quit, and shit my pants all in one fell swoop.
That's when the internal meat-head took over.
"Well, sissy boy - everyone in the gym already saw you lighten the load by 170lbs... what are you going to do? Give up? Hhahahahaha"
"Screw you, internal meat-head. This hurts."
"Yeah, but everyone's watching. You already have tits, if you give up now they'll think you have tits and a vagoo."
"But I don't! I'm all man!"
"Looks like it, girly boy. Why don't you lesson the load by another 80lbs. Or better yet, there are some cute pink 5lb weights in the girls only room. I bet they'll accept you over there."
"No! I'm huge! Look at me... I can do this! This is easy!"
Which is why I proceeded to do one rep... then two... then ... (oh god this is stupid and this hurts)... three...
I think I made it to about 6 before I couldn't do anymore partly because I was exhausted and partly because it felt like I had just torn my titties in two.
I stood up, got a drink of water, then sat back down for another set. Before touching the peg I looked around to make sure no one else was looking, then moved it up another 10 lbs. 70lbs - this is more manageable.
"Sissy."
"Shut up."
70lbs, here we go. I slowly grabbed the bars, slow breath in, and extenHNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGG (huff huff) HNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG ONE!
"Hahahahaha! Giving second thoughts to the girls only room?"
"Mayb... NO! Shut Up! I was only kidding around - only making it look like that was difficult"
But it was difficult - and once again I had committed to it - so I had to continue. I had to for the sake of all men in that gym. If I started showing weakness, then I would besmirch the reputation of all the meat heads trying to pick up chicks that day. I couldn't do that to them - they were doing their job so well.
The next day I woke up and was reminded of my folly the day before. Reminded by the 1000s of daggers jabbing into my boobicles. That sensation lasted the whole week - every day reminding me what an idiot I am... and what a jackass that guy was before me.
250lbs... honestly...
