Rantopolis

Health club true confessions #1

I belong to a fantastic health club.  Been a member for the past 18 years.  You name it, they got it.  Four floors, one huge city block square. The place is a veritable altar of fitness.  Classes, machines, every racket sport you can think of, swimming pools.  You get the idea.  Heck, even Obama and Oprah are members.

So, can someone tell me why lately I’ve been using it for only mani/pedis and massages?!

Nevermind.  We all know the reason. It is because I am an undisciplined lazy fuck.

There.  I said it.

With last weekend’s 40th high school reunion fresh on my mind, I decided it was time to (once again) recommit myself to a serious cardio program.  So, this morning I went for a brisk walk.  And this afternoon, before the massage at the club, I engaged in a serious tug of war with one of the elliptical machines.

I believe I felt my little endorphins fist bumping.

With the massage over at 3:30 pm, I still had not eaten lunch.  Someone needs to call CNN.

You have to understand.  I’m not one of those people who has a little food alarm that goes off as meal time approaches.  Oh no.  My body reacts as if a thermonuclear device has been detonated.  It’s like a growl from the bowels of hell that says:  Feed me now, bitch or else I will plunge your blood sugar level down to a place where decimal points are involved.

You think I’m exaggerating?  Fine.  Come visit me at 1:30 pm some day when my lunch has been delayed.  (It might be a good idea to wear a Kevlar vest.)

So before heading to the roof deck for some sun after the massage, I thought it would be a great idea to pick up a drink from the smoothie bar.

Yeah, I’m well aware that some of those have more calories than a bacon double cheeseburger.

Never in a million years would I thought of combining peanut butter with blueberries, plus soy milk, almonds and a couple of other fruits. Which I can’t really remember right now since I’ve not had any solid food since breakfast, so please don’t expect peak mental performance out of me.

However, let me just say…dee-lish.  I would have taken a photo to include in this post, but I was waaay too focused on sucking it down.  (If you have seriously bad short-term memory, scoot up a couple of paragraphs and reread the part of what happens to me when I am hungry.)

So, now I need to head to the kitchen where I’m about to wrestle with a squid.  Rinse, slice, broil and throw on top of a yummy Greek salad.

Afterall, I need to fortify myself for tomorrow.  The painters are showing up at 8:30 a.m.

Yippee.  Multiple butt cracks in my immediate future.

Categories: Can I get any lazier? , Exercise torture , Fat attack