Saturday, January 23, 2010

Fat Lady on a Treadmill - Day Fifty-eight

When Daughter #2 was five she had a ballet teacher who constantly harped, “Suck in your tummy, tuck in your tush, and relax.” Daughter #2 hated her. Nearly two decades later I think perhaps the witch in the leotard may have been on to something.

The pit is crowded today with a mix of resolutionists and seasoned veterans of the workout world run indoors by the snowcapped mountains around our little valley. I’m one of the lucky ones and score a ¾ rack without waiting. My latest insanity is to program the fat burner routine into the computer and go for the ride. The machine lures you into a false sense of accomplishment with a few minutes of easy going strides and then jacks up the resistance from none to ball and chain and keeps you there until you are about to collapse before it really throws you. I mean this literally and figuratively.

I’m doing my best to keep up and wondering if the JPL in Pasadena has looked into this thing as a possible new source of rocket propulsion when the resistance level plummets. Eight, Seven, Six, Five, Four, Three, Two, One….. Houston, we have lift-off.

I’m catapulted into space. The computer shows my gravity impeded RPM (reps per minute) at 125, 140, 155, 160 and finally levels off at an atmosphere free orbit of 170. I remember the ballet teacher’s mantra. I suck in my tummy, tuck in my tush and relax all my hinges, hoping to God I can hang on to the rocket.

I can see for miles and miles and miles, or maybe it’s a hallucination. I HOPE it’s a hallucination. There’s a marshmallow on a treadmill. He’s wearing a camouflage cap (which is not working because I can still see him) and sneakers he paid $100 for fifteen years ago when he told the hot chick in the office he ran five miles a day. Two months later she left and sued the company for sexual harassment and the he’s worn the shoes to walk the dog every day since. Five years later he joined the ill fated inaugural (and final) season of the company softball team which explains the faded yellow t-shirt and too short shorts that are bunching up between his spongy thighs. His hand moves toward his crotch. His legs bow, he reaches…..NO! DO NOT DO THAT!

Houston, we have a problem. Send the aircraft carrier for me. I’m done.

Whatever wild ride life takes you on today just remember – Suck in your tummy, tuck in your tush, relax, and hang on for the ride.

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