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Copyrights reserved by the author. If you are in doubt, please click on 'Copyrights' and read the details. It's Spring, beware the temptation to exercise by J. G. Fabiano
The coming of Spring means different things to different people. Most enjoy the longer days and dream about working in the garden or walking along the beach. This means we have to get our winter bodies back into the shape of bodies that look like we still belong to the human race. This means we have to dig out last year's bathing suit from underneath the mountain of sweaters in the closet to see if it still fits. It rarely does. This is followed by the long walk to the mirror and the realization - in my case at least - that the only thing that didn't grow thicker this winter was the hair on the top of my head. Shock usually prevails for the next few minutes. I have heard stories of people who actually passed out. Once I was told of a woman who froze and stared at herself in the mirror for an hour and a half. After the shock comes the resolve to recover the body that was lost over the winter. The first thing I did was see if I could still do the 30 sit-ups I had been doing during the beach days of summer. It went pretty well until I hit 11. Then I felt something warm spread throughout my midriff. Since it didn't hurt I kept going until I had done 25. Lying on my back, staring at the bedroom ceiling, I was actually pretty proud of myself. Then I tried to get up. Over the next few hours I became pretty familiar with the inverse terrain of my bedroom ceiling until my wife came looking for me. Somehow, she managed to get me onto the bed where I stayed until the next morning. One year I actually attempted a push up hoping I might be able to reduce, or at least tighten, some of the fat on my chest before it became necessary for me to buy a brassiere at the big woman's store. I managed about nine before I felt as though I was about to black out and for the next two weeks I couldn't raise my hands about my waist. I came to the conclusion that conventional exercise was now consigned to my past and I would have to find alternative ways of molding my body into some kind of respectability. A few years ago my wife purchased a treadmill that she used three or four times a week. I tried to do the same but became bored and my exercise devolved into putting the machine away when my wife had finished using it. But, now that my body had morphed into some kind of amoebae I decided it was time to get acquainted with the machine. By the time I got it out of the closet and set up I was already breathing heavily. The concept of this machine is quite simple. You stand on the belt and push some buttons. I did exactly that but for some reason the belt would not move. I was engulfed by a wave of shame as I realized I had probably become so heavy over the winter the machine wasn't powerful enough to start with me on it. I then increased the speed but all that did was make the machine hum louder and vibrate a little and I wondered how angry my wife would be if I had to tell her I had broken her machine just by standing on it. Frustrated I pushed the button under the red warning sign that read: 'For advanced users only.' The machine hummed louder but the belt didn't move and the display panel began to emit a high mechanical whine like it was going to explode. I was just about to step off when the belt jerked into action and began moving under my feet at a very high rate of speed. Naturally I wasn't ready and as my feet were thrown backwards I fell forward and grabbed onto the display board which was now lit up like the cockpit of a 747. With both hands clutching the display panel my feet were flung off the belt and into the display cabinet behind the treadmill with an expensive smashing sound. For a moment I was in the unlikely position of being completely parallel with the floor as I hung grimly onto the treadmill with my hands with my feet stuck in the smashed doors of the display cabinet. Then the cabinet shelves gave way and I hit the moving belt of the treadmill with both knees. This felt a lot like being dropped onto a giant sander. The knees of my track pants, most of the skin underneath and, I suspect, some of my kneecaps were instantly erased from my body. I screamed, let go the display panel and was hurled backwards into what was left of the display cabinet. Miraculously the only unbroken item left in the cabinet was my bottle of Johnny Walker Black Label which I immediately opened to ease the pain in my knees. So much for trying to get healthy. After I had helped my wife clean up the room she suggested I might like to try something simple first, like a walk around the block. I decided to take my wife's advice and, with Band-Aids the size of pillow slips on both knees and a change of pants I went out for a walk. Unfortunately, due to the Band-Aids and the soreness of my knees, I couldn't walk very fast and so I sent off down the street with a slow, stiff legged gait, a little like Frankenstein's monster. Have you ever noticed how many dogs come out to play after the winter months? Maybe it's the owners who can't stand to be cooped up with them anymore and so they turn them loose to roam the neighborhood to wreak whatever mischief their little canine hearts desire. No sooner had I turned the first corner than I was confronted by a succession of belligerent dogs daring me to cross their territory. The first was the size and appearance of a shaved rat and while I wasn't afraid of its bite it did have a persistent high pitched bark that I was afraid just might annoy me to death. I hurried along as best I could only to encounter two more yappy little critters that looked more like some kind of mutant weasel. I figured these were dogs people must buy when they either didn't want or couldn't afford real dogs. But they did look like they were serious about taking a nip at me. The two of them circled me threateningly, looking for a means of attack, while I tried to hobble stiff legged down the street. Then they split up. One stood its ground in front of me, bared its nasty little pointed teeth and made ferocious growling noises like it was about to launch itself at my throat and tear out my jugular. For a moment I was taken aback and hesitated, not sure what to do next. That's when its little pal snuck in behind me, raised its leg and peed all over my new sneakers. Then, I swear, the two of them scampered off like they were laughing, leaving me there to contemplate the uncomfortable wet warmth that was soaking through my socks. Admitting defeat I turned back and hobbled back home, squelching with every stiff, humiliating step. As soon as I reached my driveway I removed my sneakers and threw them deep into the trash can. Next time I am tempted to exercise I think I will take Oscar Wilde's advice: I'll lie down and wait until it passes! The End
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