More Awkward Moments

I've mentioned the problem of naked old men roaming the gym locker rooms without a care in the world, flapping in the breeze and allowing themselves to air dry after a shower. It appears this was only the start of a much larger issue and evidently their hippy-esque, carefree way of exposing themselves is really more of an epidemic, spreading with a tenacity akin to kudzu.

I had thought the naked lunges to be bad - and don't get me wrong... they are - but I assumed it couldn't possibly get any worse. It can.

We were all the way upstairs on the 3rd floor, so in theory we should have been safe, what with the locker room being both all the way across the building and two floors down. But this snake in the grass was waiting for us and struck when least expected.

At some point I noticed this older gentleman because every time I looked up he was right next to me at another machine. He was exercising with great fervor and I will hand it to him that he was in excellent shape for his age, and also ridiculously flexible, both as an older fellow and as a human being in general. Perhaps he was making a statement with his close proximity and vigorous exercise. He's may be a century older than me but he was making me look like an invalid by comparison. Whatever the reason for his constant presence, he was easily ignored, so I didn't really pay him much mind initially, but it shortly because impossible to ignore him. Believe me, I tried.

I began to take note that after each short set he would do on any given machine, he would walk over to the leg press and stick his foot on top of the section that houses the weights, which basically means he had to stick he leg straight up in the air, which appeared to be no hurdle for him. The problem with this stretching was two-fold.

1. He was wearing shorts. Now, even regular shorts will ride up a bit when you go too far out of the normal walking range of motion. The shorts this man had on were anything but normal and already showed too much leg even when just standing normally.
2. He was facing us often times when he did this stretch.

So what do I see when I look up but some random old guy's cash and prizes staring me in the face. Augh. I thought I must still be in the locker room for a second. How else could this possibly happen?

I didn't know if any of my friends who were with me noticed, but I didn't want to call attention to it lest I draw its dark gaze down upon me, like naming Voldemort in Harry Potter... not that I have any idea who that is. But apparently someone noticed, because after a while I hear one of them say "I'm tired of looking up and seeing that old guy's naughty bits." Though, I think they said it a little more vulgarly but I can't be sure as my mind tried to wipe that whole day from my memory as some sort of defense mechanism for my sanity.

After a while, that guy vacated the area and we were able to use the leg press for which we had so patiently waited. On my last turn, I looked over and noticed another guy waiting on me to finish. He was a giant who looked to be around 6'7" and his biceps were as big as my torso. He also looked angry, but was pretty polite and told me to take my time. I let him know when I was done as he was looking elsewhere at the time and I moved over to another machine. It was around this time that I (as well as my friends) noticed the free-spirited elder gentleman returning. And he was headed right towards the leg press, which the Giant now occupied.
I didn't really think anything of it at first, because of course the old guy wasn't going to do his crazy stretching on the machine that someone was using, especially not the current fellow.

Never have I been so wrong. And I've been pretty wrong in my day.

Old boy didn't even hesitate when he shot his uncomfortably muscled leg straight up and let it come to rest on top of the machine, facing the Giant, shorts falling open to display himself for the world. Quite frankly I expected the big guy to just punch him at which point the old bloke would have exploded into a fine mist. Instead he looked right over at me, right in my eyes where I saw a plea for help, and deep, deep sadness. At which point my friends and I all exploded in laughter, though our joy was mixed with sympathy. Giant kept eye contact as if afraid to look away and was just shaking his head non-stop. Not really what I expected from such a scary looking guy. But he may have been in shock.
When Giant was done, he made his way over to us and we all had a laugh and talked about what had happened, like survivors of some great tragedy. We would all be forever changed after that day.

Personally, I'd have steered clear of Giant. Turns out he's actually a pretty stand-up guy but he sure looks scary as hell. That old guy really has some balls on him. And unfortunately I am qualified to make that statement.

The Gym, Nausea, and Public Showers

In an effort to get back on track with taking better care of myself, I crawled out of bed at 4:50AM this morning to go to a 5:30 class at the gym. And for those who've been to my house, yes, there were still people walking around on the streets even at that time.

I only managed to get 6 hours of sleep, which clashes a bit with the whole "taking better care of myself" idea, but I'll need some practice to get the balance right. Beyond forgetting deodorant and nearly walking out of the house without pants, I felt I was off to a strong start. But two things were plotting against me; how hard spin class can be after not going for months...and public showers.

Several months ago, I was on a roll and was rather dedicated to going to a class several times a week and that was forcing me to eat better because I'd feel like I did all that work for nothing otherwise. It was working out well. But everything went downhill when I moved because I no longer had to go by the gym to get home and thus 'out of sight, out of mind'. I can in fact be that pitifully weak-willed and easily distracted; I'm not proud.

A note about spin class for those who've never been. If you're not in excellent shape, there are three phases that you are going to experience when you go to your first several classes.

* Wanting to Vomit

* Wanting to Die

* Uncontrollable Urination

Okay, I made that last one up. Maybe. I think the actual last phase is "grim acceptance" but sadly I don't ever make it to that one.

Still it felt good (besides the 45 minutes during which it felt horrible) to be back on track. Or at least starting back on the path to be on said track. ~16 miles wasn't a bad first day. Though it's depressing when the instructor starts talking about how all that effort translates into the kind of food you can eat. Two .99 cent bags of Cheetos and all that work is undone? The effort-to-calories-burned ratio always seems horrible skewed. Thankfully I don't like Cheetos. Though I do like this guy:

It's also depressing that he - the instructor, not Chester - is probably close to double my age and was tearing it up all the while talking to the class without a hint of being out of breath. His legs were moving in a ridiculous blur, like the Roadrunner.

Since I had to go to work directly after class, I was forced to use the public shower or be shunned by my coworkers. I'm sure most people are long beyond the discomfort with public showers that I felt this day but, this being my first experience with a public shower, I was none too pleased. The place was filled with far more naked old men proudly flaunting their cash and prizes than any one location should ever contain.

I wanted to shower as fast as humanly possible, but I had to make it to a free shower-head first. As I uncomfortably make my way through there - giddy elders all around talking about their moles and popping each other on the butt with towels - where do I look? You might think you want to look the people dead in the eye, but you don't really want to do that. You want to avert your eyes and cast them down in discomfort or shame, except you really don't want to look down. You could close your eyes but one ill-fated bump into someone and there's not enough soap in the city to scrub away those memories. Squint. That's the key. You can't make out details but you can make out the octagon shapes of the fellows easy enough to keep clear.

Also, I should note that old people's butts are freakin' weird. The shape and angles are all wrong, like some sort of nightmarish horror from an H.P. Lovecraft story. They look like someone was trying to make biscuits out of their backside but hasn't fully rolled the dough yet. They are pasty-white and soft (...I assume), half totally flat and the other half more or less dome-shaped, though with various pits and dents all over the surface (as if the dome was hit by a shower of meteorites).
And I guess some of them look like you dropped the dough on a floor covered in white cat hair.

It is unfortunate that I try to share this information while attempting to eat my already unsatisfying lunch. It's unfortunate that I had to learn these things at all. Today; the day I lost my innocence and the world became a cold, dark place.

Oh Holy Crap!

In a brief follow-up to a previous post where I describe my manly moment during an unexpected, small fall during rock climbing, I would like to point out that another such incident has occurred and I took it much better than the first occurrence. Given, this time I knew I was going to be descending, but I was not prepared for the rate at which it happened.

At the top of the 30ft wall, it was time to head back down and I pushed away from the wall as usual when suddenly I began rocketing towards the ground at a speed which I can only describe as terminal velocity. It took me slightly off guard as I had been about to land on the wall for a second push and I was aiming for a particularly good spot to do so when suddenly said spot shot up and out of view. Rather than a small hitch in the rope this time, the person belaying was simply trying out a slightly more elevated position for the rope to try and avoid any start/stop, jerky motions that tend to happen when lowering someone. He was successful.

Rather than the high-pitched, scream of terror I assumed would happen in such an event, I let out an ever so slightly less embarrassing cry of "oh holy crap!" or something along those lines, but I DID manage to do it in my regular voice, if at a much higher volume than normal.

Some of us found this whole event pretty entertaining.

When I successfully landed unharmed, I had to admit that the sheer speed of the descent was pretty thrilling. Rappelling at a rapid clip is one of my favorite parts of climbing, after all. And I'd not mind doing it again but I think the actual thrill came from the fact that for a few short seconds I thought I was actually falling and - upon landing - the joy of still being alive was pretty exceptional. I don't think it could be replicated by warning me that I'm going to be let down fast and it would always have to come as a surprise, with the obvious downside that the potential for a girly-scream would still be lurking just below the surface; ever-present.

Exciting Summer

The second part of my masterful life reevaluation plan (the first being the whole "eating better and getting back into good shape" thing) is to be more active and social, and I've stuffed this summer full of all sorts of delicious activities in anticipation of that. While it looks like I will probably not be able to make it to the 2 week trip to Machu Picchu, I'm trying not to let that bum me out as there is plenty of other excitement to be had, though I'm sure many of you can appreciate why I'd be sad to not make that journey.

If the view from atop there doesn't make you reevaluate your life's priorities, I don't know what will.

This coming week will be the first week of these adventures; I'll be going spelunking. Though I use both "adventure" and "spelunking" in a loose manner as it's a guided tour. Be that as it may, anytime the thought of plunging in the belly of the earth is brought up I can't help but think of Ted the Caver, which doesn't please my nerves. We've a tentative plan to go elsewhere on our own soon, so I can worry beasts in the deep when that happens.
We'll be hitting Cumberland Cave, which makes up for in beauty what it lacks in excitement.



Next month will be a busy one, filled with days of sailing, kayaking, whitewater rafting, and if all goes well, freakin' hangliding which I am exceptionally excited for. I still need someone to come along for that one, if anyone is interested. Oddly, I've had a hard time finding people willing to jump off a ledge with only a kite on their back.

I'm never been sailing before, but I love to be on the water, and am counting down the days until this outing. The sailing is a 'learn how to sail' course which I am eager to participate in. The sooner I learn to sail, the sooner I can sell all my worldly possession to buy a boat and move to the Bahamas! If there's anything my life is missing, it's the ocean air in my lungs and the sound of the waves filling my ears.

I have a few free weekends still this summer, so if anyone knows of anything interesting coming up, I'm all ears.

Now to finish packing for my imminent move to my new house in Nashville; be sure to stop by!

Revitalizing Myself, Yoga, and More!

You might recall an earlier entry I wrote about getting healthy. I'll save the specifics, but let's just say I faltered. I aimed too high and melted my feeble wings of wax. In truth, it's that I aimed too high too fast, was unable to withstand the breakneck speed, and all went black. Helpless, I fell, earthbound. When I awoke, I had fallen further than I was when I first started. I decided there had to be a better way, but I just had trouble finding it. After quite a bit of aimless wandering, I simply opted to take the opportunity of the upcoming year and use that as my springboard.

I decided to make 2009 the year. THE year for things to happen. I also secretly decided to make each year afterward even better than 2009, but I'm going to put one foot in front of the other before I hit an all-out run.

It took me a couple of weeks to really begin forcing a change on myself though. Before you mumble to yourself "laziness", I will admit to you an even more embarrassing reason; terror. It had been a few years since I really examined myself and of what I was (or was not) capable. These few years since then had forced me down a path that was both sedentary and without inner reflection and I was terrified to really see the toll it had taken on me, even if I could already feel it.
But I finally made my first step. A baby step for most but a long jump for me; a leap of faith. I signed up for the gym near my home and laid out the clay, ready to mold myself once more. I had become rigid, I had lost durability, was cracked - withered. I fell away under a touch and it would require skilled sculptor hands to peel away the clumps around me to reveal, ultimately, myself. The finished yet ever changing piece.

That terror I spoke of...it was on that first day that it had me so firmly in its grip. It pressing against my chest, suffocating me and tempting me to flee. I entered the building, a little wary but ready to go, and so I warmed up. Odd; I could not quite reach my toes when I stretched. Peculiar; my arms did not reach as far behind me as I remember them doing. Unusual; my torso did not twist in the ways it once did. And depressing; it was a bit tiring walking up the flight of steps to the treadmills.

With slightly labored breathing and weary knees, I hopped up, set the machine and began to run. The conveyor belt moved a lot faster than I remember one ever doing at such a low speed. The clock, which I had set for a mere 20 minutes, was broken; the seconds ticked away far more slowly than they should have. My knees failed me far faster than I ever recalled.
The rest of the night was much the same. Every pound felt like two. Every mile felt like many. Every leg press was like trying to move the earth beneath me. The 15 foot tall rock wall? Insurmountable.

I felt the fear that everyone who lets themselves fall into such decay must feel, thinking the work to correct such folly would be just too great. But I came back. Again and again I return, and while sometimes it feels like I am progressing backwards, I've come a long way in a short time.
I won't lie to you and say that my first few weeks ever using weights were a cake walk. If you had see me have to use my left arm to lift my right because it was too worn out to raise itself far enough to wash my hair without assistance, you would understand. Of if you had to witness me literally rolling out of bed because my muscles were to weary to lift my own body weight, you'd marvel at my progress.
I certainly cannot deny the change I feel. I sleep better, I eat less, and, not believing in weighing myself, I finally begin to see results in the mirror. Small, slow, yet amazingly significant.

Somewhere along the line, I went from dreading my 3-4 weekly workouts to looking forward to them and even feeling a little bit of withdrawal on days that I did not go. I decided I would add in something I've always wanted to do (with dedication); Yoga.

I found myself at the Yoga studio on a Tuesday with a couple of people from work. The room was sweltering, but peaceful. I unrolled my mat between two strangers, both deep in meditation and looking at peace. They even felt peaceful, already empty of all the worries of the world, shedding the weight like a second burdensome skin. Shed it like I hoped to do; to let the torrent of the world's problems roll off of me like water; to break against me as waves on the rocks.
I was excited; I knew from my few previous experiences with Yoga that it was not to be underestimated. Yoga has a subtle difficulty and it was a great challenge even when I was in good shape.

With the instructors soothing voice and words, I stretched myself out along the earth, feeling awareness in my limbs, along my spine, very aware of the ground below me. Over the next hour, I stretched, I bent, I folded, I might have wept silently to myself, I balanced and I nearly toppled (my balance isn't what it once was, either). My arms shook, my knees buckled and I literally dripped sweat in amounts that made my gym visits look like a light sprinkle to a typhoon. But I made it. And during my favorite part of Yoga, savasana, I finally found something I've been looking to find for years. Sleep. When I tell you I dreamed several dreams in those few minutes, you might not understand the significance. My sleep problem is such that I've only reached a level of sleep deep enough to hit REM, and thus dream, a mere handful of times in my entire life. And when I awkwardly jerked awake, initially being horrified after realizing I had fallen asleep, I was ecstatic when I realized the results. I have been back to Yoga a time or two every week since then and don't see myself stopping anytime soon.

The final step in my master plan has been a simple one, but the one that laid me low last time I tried; my eating habits. I reached too far before when I cut out all the junk from my diet and my hand was slapped before I could withdraw it. I am not meant to go from one end of the spectrum, to the opposite end that has me eating nothing but raw vegetable. I decided a more middle of the road approach would work better. I still drink a lot of water and have eliminated all sodas, but I will not shun a sandwich because of the bread, though I also won't eat one every day. Moderation, you know. My vegetables? Sometimes raw, but usually cooked. I don't eat sweets, but I did integrated my much loved peanut butter into my life a bit more, usually with bananas in a shake, or with an apple for a snack. But it's reduced fat and/or natural peanut butter. Once this is a success, I might slowly wean myself off of some of these other things, but I am taking it slowly thanks to a friend's advice, and so far it's been working for me better than anything else ever has.

I have always been a big believer in "your body is a temple". But like a person who gives fine advice, I do not always follow my principles. I will say also that I believe in karma and I am without a doubt sure that I've suffered the problems I have - sleep disorder, weak knees, etc - because of my failure to treat my body like I should. I once heard a woman's body referred to as a work of art and a man's as a Jeep. Rather accurate. I've admired the female body as I do beautiful works of art, happy to gaze on it for many hours. Likewise, I have treated my body like I treat my Jeep. I fly over speed bumps, don't change the oil often, and never rotate the tires when I should. And while I clean the outside, I put a lot of junk inside and never bother to clean it out.

As I wrote this out, I realized that these steps are likely small to others, but I've felt very accomplished even taking these baby steps. I for once don't feel like I'm going to stray at the first sign of trouble, and that is heartening. The next step? More outdoor activities. I'm looking at you, hang gliding.