PLANET OUCH
Having had it pointed out to me by friends numerous and sundry that I am
developing a double chin in addition to my growing collection of tummy
fat, I determined last month (after a number of beers) that a gym
membership might be in order.
I checked out the options in my neighborhood, and came to the conclusion
that at the rate of ten dollars per month, combined with the fact that
it's less than a block from my apartment, Planet Fitness was the way to
go.
For a couple of weeks, I basked in the glow of my new membership, secure
in the fact that now I had a credible response to folk pointing out my
state of health.
However, the sad truth is that a gym membership alone has failed, over
the course of a couple of weeks, to stem the deterioration of my health,
so this week I got down to the serious business of actually going to the
gym and working out. It's been interesting.
The times at which I go are usually in the late morning/early afternoon,
so the place is relatively dead, which is nice. I seem to do
exceptionally well with lower-body exercises; two hours of leg-press,
treadmill, exercise bike, etc... and I'm barely breaking a sweat.
However, I've arranged to do upper-body exercises on alternate days, and
this is where it gets problematic.
It's not that I can't lift the weights; the machines and I are getting
along beautifully in that regard. It's that about a half hour after I'm
finished, usually after I've shaved and am in the middle of washing my
hair, every muscle in my upper body begins to revolt and cramp up, a
state in which I remain throughout the remainder of the day and into the
next.
I've had similar issues while studying Bujinkan, and they've gone away
after a couple of months of getting back into it, so I'm crossing my
fingers. In the meantime, however, I'm in a world of pain.
GET SOME SLEEP, YOU MORON
Savvy readers may note the timestamp on this post, and wonder what in
the hell I thought I was doing, writing a blog post at 4am. Good eye,
folks.
For one reason or another, I've been finding myself over the last couple
of weeks finishing up all my immediate responsibilities early in the
evening, and long-term responsibilities have pretty much been taking
care of themselves, so I'm left with an evening where my choices are
roughly:
A. Spend money.
B. Kill the evening in front of the television.
C. Read myself to sleep.
Plan 'C' has been the winner disproportionately often, pointing up a
phenomenon my ex-wife lovingly refers to as 'getting old'.
Last night was no different, and I ended up turning out the lights at
the ungodly hour of 9:30p, and waking at 2:30a to get rid of some used
beer. Usually, these interludes are short, sweet, and remarkably
focused, culminating in a return to bed and the bliss of slumber, but
this morning I found that all manner of things were running through my
head after I returned to bed, and that sleep was not in the cards.
This happens occasionally, but usually only when I have a video
conference scheduled with someone overseas, necessitating that I get up
at some eye-popping hour, get dressed, and act professional. No such
luck, this time. It's just me and the quiet.
IF YOU DON'T LEAVE IT ALONE, I'M GOING TO INJECT YOU WITH NERVE TOXIN,
LIQUIFY YOUR INNARDS, AND SUCK THEM OUT TO FEED MY GROWING HORDE
On the outdoor third floor hallway leading to my apartment, there lives
a spider of epic proportions. She is bone white and monstrous; one of
those spiders with the really big abdomen with horns on it that you
always wish would drop down on that fellow who seems to attend every
tech conference and speaks in a nasal monotone with clear disregard for
the location of the microphone.
She keeps spinning a marvelous web which takes up the upper corner of
the hall and covers quite a bit of real estate. For one reason or
another, the apartment maintenance people keep tearing her web down, but
leaving her there, huddled and furious, to spin again.
Earlier in the month, she laid an egg sac in the corner. I was abuzz,
which should give you some insight into just how exciting my life has
been, lately. It occurred to me briefly that I should collect both her
and her brood and bring them into my apartment so as to preserve them
from the ministrations of the maintenance folks, but then it occurred to
me as well that my apartment tends to be fairly bug-free, which wouldn't
serve very well as a home for them, so I let them be.
Sure enough, maintenance took down the egg sac along with her latest
iteration of the web, but again left her there. Fortunately, she doesn't
seem to be pining after her lost eggs, but is again dutifully building
out a new web, as though one of these days the maintenance folk are just
going to realize the futility of the battle and let her have her way.
In a perfect world, perhaps.
I think I've come to a conclusion - I'm going to move her out of the
hallway and onto my balcony. She can spin to her spidery heart's content
out there. Wish I'd thought of that while the egg sac was still about.
LITTLE TEENY CHEESES
In other news, I seem to have been the unwitting victim of a vicious
marketing campaign involving opium.
Some years ago, a product appeared on the grocery scene. Unobtrusive,
without fanfare, The Laughing Cow put tiny little cheeses, covered in
wax, out on the shelves.
At first, it was manageable. I bought them when I had a little extra
cash. They were a tasty snack, and I knew I could quit whenever I
wanted.
However, the price has gone up quite a bit, and I find now that even
though I know I shouldn't spend the money, I still drop a bag of them
into my cart when I go grocery shopping. They take up 12% of my grocery
budget. I can't help myself.
They say admitting you have a problem is the first step. I seem to have
managed that. We'll see how the rest of it goes, but I'm not holding my
breath.
