Gym Bunny

The Greenpoint YMCA was having a sign up special. It was such a good deal that I signed up for it. That was two months ago.

I flaked out on the first two free training appointments, but I was determined to keep the third one. My trainer’s name is Kirsten. If i snapped my fingers, I could break her in half. She’s small and blonde and skeletal. Mostly, she is there to hold me accountable by providing a series of sign in sheets, happy pep talks, and daily emails that include “Recipes of the Day”. So far, all the recipes seem to contain feta cheese.

Last night was my first work out by myself. I could still taste Ritz crackers from my after work snack. Running on a treadmill with the buttery goodness of a Ritz isn’t very comforting. Neither is jogging my fat ass next to hawt boys. I don’t know what is more difficult – running for 30 minutes in a row or not staring at the sweaty man meat everywhere.

Anyway, I have embarked on a gym gyourney… again. Wish me luck.

Fine Dining

Tonight, I drank a bottle of White Zinfandel. It was $4.99 at C Town Town. I chugged the whole thing while I caught up on my DVR (‘Prison Break’, ‘The View’). I didn’t feel pathetic until I had a doughnut for dinner.

Exercise Balls

So, my awesome friend Craig got me a gift. I guess technically it wasn’t a gift since I gave him a ticket to see Chemical Brothers. He in turn bought tickets for Mates of State and an exercise ball for me. He also bought me Thai food, but I think that’s more because I have given him alot of cookies and I let him borrow $1.26 cents at Taco Bell one time. Anyway, I now have an exercise ball and I love it. It’s toning up your muscles that you never really use and I like it. Today, after only one night of using the ball, I could feel my muscles tighten and ache in a good way at my desk all day.

I am sitting on my exercise ball now. Mine is red. Craig’s is blue. Craig has blue balls! HAHAHA. Anyway, I looked through youtube and found a bunch of related material for exercise balls. The first one is of Craig on his ball. His blue ball. Thanks so much, Craig!

I love Hapanese people!

** Editor’s note. I noticed my typo above that said ‘hapanese’ instead of ‘japanese’. I was going to change it, but aren’t all Japanese people happy? The girl in the video is definitely happy. I will stand by my typo and henceforth have made a new, possibly racist term – hapanese. **

Too Fat For Ikea

I was so excited this past Friday to come home and see that our Ikea furniture had been delivered. I bought a new CD in preparation of having to assemble all of it. New music makes me happy when I have to do something stupid like clean, work out, or build Swedish chairs. Putting my desk chair together took a long time. Once finished, it only took me 4 minutes to sit on it and break the shit out of it. The chair arrived from the factory in 45 pieces. I assembled it to make on piece and then I promptly broke it in two pieces. Yay me. Yay Ikea.

Jello

I canm barly typ anythiin righ now.

There are parts of my arms that I didn’t even know were parts. They hurt all over. Twice. I succeeded in not passing out or throwing up during my first official workout ever. Yay me. My trainer was a hot black chick. She was exactly the kind of trainer I wanted! She asked me what my goals were. I said I wanted to look like Brad Pitt in ‘Fight Club’. She laughed and said, “No, really…what are your goals.” I fell in love with her sass and enthusiasm right away. Working out with her made my attitude towards working out very positive. AfriCAN not AfriCAN’T.

I did a mile on the treadmill to “warm up”. She told me that “good cardio” was a great way to get started. Then we moved to the weights. Halfway through the “upper body strengthening”, whatever that means, I felt a little lightheaded. She asked me how I felt. I responded with my honest answer…”I feel stoned”. Apparently, when endorphins are released they make you feel all wobbly and slightly euphoric. Working out is like taking mild ecstacy but makes your muscles explode. Fun!

My trainer told me I did great with the abdominal segment of the work out. I thought I did better than I anticipated. I went and got a drink of water and met her at the “free weights”. The “free weights” section was inhabited by AMAZINGLY HOT DUDES. If I didn’t have such a great sense of humor, I would have hated being there with my little wittle trainer helping me in front of all the big boys on the playground. However, I thought it was funny. My trainer seemed to know all these guys and playfully introduced me as a new member of the gym. They were all very very very friendly.

“Gee boys, I’m new around here! I’ve always depended on the kindness of strangers! Who wants to spot me?”

Anyway, I am super into this at the moment. My improv coach told me this weekend that I “would be a hulking monster” if I became all muscled out. I think that is a far far far way away, but this I know…”free weights” are not really free. Its $69.00 a month. Which is hilarious.

Hell. Frozen. Now. Brr.

Its official. Hell has finally frozen over. True story.

I joined a gym last night. Goddamn Crunch. My first training session is this Saturday at 11:00am. Holy Fuck.

Hijinks ensue.

Crunch

Crunch Gym mocks me every day. It looms across the street from my apartment on Christopher Street and openly snickers at me…..mmm Snickers. It is a reverse drug dealer standing on the corner offering me the first taste of something healthy. A dime bag of wheat grass. A needle full of Crystal Light.

It would be too convenient for me to be able to step outside, walk across the street and be at my new gym. I like things with a little more challenge. Like getting married to Jake Gyllenhaal in Texas. Although the thought of sitting around in the steam room with a bunch of sweaty gay dudes does have its charms, I am overwhelmed by the thought of being the fat dude that makes it awkward for the hot guys who just want to bust a nut together. I guess I could adapt to being a voyeur. Of course, I really just would join a gym to get in shape. Always being the kid with the pool shirt on is just part of me.

My personal trainer would be equal parts drill sergeant, therapist and strong black woman. They would push me to the brink as I watched in amazement how quickly the pounds just shed away from my body. They would make me do homework like keep a food journal and convert calories into fat grams or some shit. I am not exactly sure what all that means, I just saw them do it to Jodi on Starting Over. That’s it! Iyanla Vanzant should be my trainer. My Life Trainer.

Oh wait. I just rememebred watching The Biggest Loser the other night. There was this guy that lost like 100 pounds. His face looked totally different and much more attractive. But I noticed that he had all this extra skin. He was always dressed in large sweaters and various blanketing fabrics to cover up his deflated body. I don’t think I want that either. I would have to get surgery to get that removed, right? Who wants surgery? I don’t. All that extra flabby belly. Ew. I would rather just keep my belly the size it is now than have it turn to mushy goo.

I’m gonna go eat a donut.