The New Year Workout Craze!

By: Robert Stedman

    As I write this, the New Year hasn't arrived yet. Nope, you don't see everyone scampering around with a new workout program trying to emulate the energy from the obnoxious nephew. We're now gonna jump into a time machine sending us back to January 2000 and take a peek at my one day attempt for "summer muscles.”  I begin my "get fit" routine with a cruise towards the local gym. I quickly find myself drooling as I pass countless breakfast eateries. I slap myself back into reality and think about the unfortunate starving children of Somalia. Arriving at the gym sends me into a frenzy because I notice an overwhelming amount of familiar cars. Paranoia sets in causing this pimple to feel enormous and hair more out of control. You'd have thought Elvis was performing with the amount of cars in the parking lot! You can also go ahead and plan on seeing everyone you know. Anytime your appearance resembles death--you're gonna run into the girl you “went with” in the 8th grade and she'll be chatting with your 5th grade teacher, while the one you dumped in college is headed your way. What to do? Donuts seem to make logical sense!  Anyway, I initialize the workout by grabbing a magazine and heading towards the bikes. The warm up begins as I circulate the pedals at a pace my Great-aunt would laugh at. Once I spend 20 seconds on this, I begin to bust into my Lance Armstrong imitation. It takes all of a minute to feel faint and be forced into a mad dash for the water cooler. I now realize that I went way overboard on the sausage balls during the holidays! The dizziness finally fades sending me searching for another "get fit" project.

      I must admit one thing--this is has gotta be the best place for people watching. For instance, don't you get the biggest kick from the guy who must be 90 Ibs with a weightlifting belt attempting to squat five times his limit! Boy is he ever gonna feel sore in the morning! Then you've got those hulk like creatures that look at you like you're some sort of clueless pip-squeak. I usually feel about 3 feet tall when I strut by these guys. As one can imagine, it's pretty easy to feel intimidated in this environment.

     I've now gotten away from an intelligent workout. I'm on a mission to appear strong! Ah, I've got it--the dip machine. Because I weight nothing, I can pound out about 25 dips and I'll look pretty cool. And maybe that cute brunette will notice! See folks, this is getting ridiculous. It's almost like the healthy version of a bar scene. Instead of slurping drinks for liquid courage--I'm scouting out machines that may possibly throw out the notion that I'm a stud. I'm starting to see the writing on the wall, which reads that I'm gonna wake up in the morning, unable to move because each muscle needs emergency treatment from an ice pack or heating pad!

     I've now given up realizing that these surroundings are not for me. I don't really want to hit the free-weights with all the hard cores. That would just remind the 8th grade girlfriend of what she's not missing and I could never shatter my confidence in such a fashion. I must leave this place with my head down and the understanding that another resolution has gone down the tubes. As I mosey by kickboxing, swimmers, cycling, and racquetball, I begin hearing the echo of Krispy Kreme whispering, "come hither, come hither and sink your teeth into my doughnuts." To steal a quote from Scarlet O'Hara, "after all, tomorrow is another day!"