For the past several months, I’ve studied several different workout regimens. My analysis, finally rescued from my emotions and delivered to my brain, required no PHD or Masters in Physiology to understand – workout is good for Mark; not workout is bad. Six or seven weeks ago, I decided to listen to my inner caveman/personal trainer and engage in workoutage (a technical term invented quite recently by some experts from some university who studied something quite significant for a substantial number of years)…
Sorry, “simply having a wonderful christmas time” keeps running through my mind. “Sim…ply having a wonderful christmas time. Sim…ply having a wonder…” How do the synapses come up with such creative expressions of my internal workings? We’ll cover that exact topic in a future episode of On the Way – a one way technical journey into my mind.
So this morning I head to a little place that we exercise fanatics like to call “the workout room.” I’d just returned from the Juice Shack with a colossal size veggie drink in my left hand and a fruit drink in my right, feeling pretty good…pretty, pretty good (nod to Larry David). In order to not lose you lay people, let’s just say after doing a little of this and a little of that, I bounced/stumbled over to the leg press (oops, probably lost a few of you there). Suffice it to say, a leg press requires a complex combination of power, speed, precision, sophistication, beauty, and finesse…oh yeah, and legs.
Some of the machines, including the leg press, face a wall of windows allowing the regular folks to walk or drive by and marvel at the workout experts in action. About half way through my second set (I call each and every movement of any body part, including breathing, a set), I saw this red-headed woman sporting a light beige jacket stroll across the alley. Her right hand tightly gripped a white bag of donuts; her left hand surrounded a large cup of coffee. She looked happy and content.
I smiled at her; she smiled back. Knowing that she came by just to get a glimpse of a real workout specialist engaging in workoutage, I executed another perfect (my definition of any movement where I don’t end up on the ground) press for my audience of one. Without a moment’s hesitation, she shrugged, executed a perfect lift of her donut bag, followed by her cup of coffee, and then repeated the exercise…
Touché, donut woman. Touché.
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