Time flies when you're getting thin ... or not getting thin, as the case may be.
I've only worked out once since my last post; Shawn had something one day, and I had to deal with something on another. Yeah, that's right; I'm going cryptic with this entry, forcing you to read between the lines for once. By the way - please do NOT attempt to read between the lines here. No subtext, no hidden meanings; just a fat guy and his trainer missing a few sessions together; no need to expend any brain power on that.
The one workout we did have ... well, let's just say I was brought back down to Earth, literally. Halfway through being put through the paces in The Lord's Gym I got lightheaded, more than a little wobbly and, ultimately, embarrassed by my inability to continue. Seriously, after just thirty minutes, dizziness and blurred vision forced me to bail on the session. Never happened to me before - hell, I've thrown up during workouts, I've seized up with cramps, but actually having to shut it down? That was a first for me ... and yes, it made me feel inadequate, frustrated - ahh fuck, who am I kidding? It made me really, REALLY fucking pissed off that once again I'd gotten myself in this position. If I hadn't been so dizzy and weak I would have taken a lap ... right into fucking traffic, erasing all concerns from my foggy head once and for all.
Through it all Shawn was great, trying to get me to ease up as I lay on the ground cursing myself. Here's a fun fact: I've only met with Shawn a few times, but I've probably said "I'm not a pussy" more times to him than I've said "hello". It's so important to me that he understands that; I don't want to be viewed as some fat fucking pussy, whining his way through a workout cut short because the last two years he couldn't stop jamming candy into his nine-chinned head. He tells me it takes time, and I know that - but the only thing thicker than the barrel of fat around my torso is the layer inside my skull, impenetrable to all common sense and reason. That will change, and the fat will eventually disappear from both head and gut ... but in the meantime, there's gonna be a whole lot of Mike-hate going on.
The whole thing was exacerbated by being in The Lord's Gym, an outdoor location which provides not only open spaces and fresh air, but something insidious as well: people. Civilians. Gawkers who stop to watch the file cabinet in a rash guard as he desperately tries to keep from having the sandbag he just tossed land on his skull. I've worked out in a gym full of people many times, but being outside made it seem somehow magnified. See, in a gym EVERYONE is working out, so it seems normal; outdoors, however, people are walking dogs, playing soccer, jogging ... and watching me paw kettlebells like the apes paw the monolith at the beginning of "2001". Seriously, I am NOT getting the hang of these things; yes, it's only been three sessions, but these kettlebells are fucking me up. I'll solve them at some point - hell, in six months I'll be swinging around Persian clubs like the Iron Sheik, offering a thousand dollars to anyone who can defeat me. Right now, though? Right now I look like a 43-year-old out of shape guy trying to look like anything but that. Awful.
The secular gym is a different story entirely, mainly because the workouts there allow me to punch things. I've found that punching things tends to relax me - especially when those things don't punch back. If the heavy bag starts hitting back I'm sure relaxation will go out the window, for several reasons ... not the least of which will be the fact that apparently the secular gym is haunted. Seriously, if the heavy bag takes a poke at me I'm bailing until The Mystery Machine shows up; let Shag and Scoob solve "The Mystery Of The Everlast Ghost", I'll be back when they give the all-clear.
While the last session may have only been a half-hour, I can tell you that my arms are still gassed, a feeling I've always loved. That tightening of the biceps and triceps, the soreness from just killing it - I actually look forward to it, makes me feel like I'm accomplishing something ... not just feel, but KNOW. I just have to square the fact that as I've let my muscles atrophy over the past two years, I've also let my head go soft at the same pace. It's a little tougher to get reps for your brain, but I'll figure it out.
If you’re looking for a trainer, you can contact Shawn Richardson through his website at http://realworldfit.com, and you can follow him on Twitter at http://twitter.com/realworldfit. If you're looking for a guy who is NOT a pussy, head on over to the "Hi, I'm Mike" page; tell that guy I'll be seeing him ... well, not soon, but certainly eventually.