One of the few things I hate more than cats is working out. Because of this, I get exercise through every type of sports league I can think of, and by riding my bike everywhere, even when it doesn't make any sense to do so. I'm just not a gym guy. Maybe it's the swollen-up, muscley, Neanderthal man grunting and groaning to assure that everyone becomes well aware that he is squatting hundreds of meaningless pounds. Maybe it's watching Johnny Hardass, perhaps the very same Neanderthal man, hit on the fake-breasted, but cute girl at the juice bar. Anyway, today I decided to do some gym-free push-ups and sit ups for two reasons:
1. I recently had an encounter with an old flame, and although the border police were stringent around her 38th Parallel/Mason-Dixon Line, we did end up mostly naked, back at her place. For whatever reason, she felt compelled to tell me that I should do some bench-pressing. That hurt a little bit, but after cycling through the pictures in her camera, I saw the type of guy she prefers in her recently dubbed ex-boyfriend: A totally ripped, cheesy-looking, Chip and Dales(tm) Dancer type. I wish I could say I didn't have this knowledge, but judging by his good-sized, yet unkempt penis area, he could have made a decent living at it. If you saw this dude, you'd know what I mean when I say that all he needs is the bow tie. In any event, I left her crappy, little apartment very ashamed of my lack of chest definition.
2. In a men's health magazine, I saw like seven push-up techniques, and I wanted to try them out, despite the fact that I could only seem to remember the one where you make a diamond out of your hands. Holy mackerel do those make my chest hurt, even now, with each and every keystroke. I also borrowed my neighbor’s ab-roller(tm). Those are a bitch, man! While I was rolling away, I Saw the Light by Todd Rundgren came on, and I remember thinking: "Those killer, bombastic drums bumping give quite an edge to an otherwise, fairly-tradional pop song. Hey, that's one heck of a guitar solo too. I wonder if that's big Todd himself? If memory serves, he raised Liv Tyler as his own daughter, even though it was Steven Tyler who knocked up her groupie mom." My mind went through various tangents like that one, until I realized I had been rolling for far, far too long. My tummy hurts, but not nearly as bad as my back.
Now, if you'll excuse me, me and my sore back and puny, but sore, chest, are going to anoint ourselves in a bathtub full of BenGay.