The Crack Machine

5 am comes far too quickly after laying my head on that delicate pile of bunched up puffy clouds I call my pillow where I dream of unicorns farting rainbows and the Partridge Family bus (having serious bus/tree problems).

Food is an ever present part of my dreams too as well as part of my every waking moment. 

It’s what I do. 

This is why I get up (again, try to crawl over the wife unflatulently) and flog myself for a mile in lane three while trying not to swallow mumu swimsuit flavors. 

I’m trying to stop following my belly around. I’d like it to be a part of the walk with the rest of my being instead of trying to always lead the way. 

When I get out, I generally make it to the shower without weaving or falling over, clean up, shave and write this post. 

This morning, after sitting in the same chair every weekday morning for the last two months, I finally noticed…

“The Crack Machine”

Image

I’m doomed…

Uncommon Sense

It was hard to open my eyes this morning. 

Every cell in my eyelids was fighting against the effort of even twitching. 

Unfortunately, my alarm was going off I’m the other room and since my wife had another man in our bed, I was sleeping in his…

Don’t worry, for some reason, in the night he silently creeps in & crawls between us occasionally clutching a stuffed animal so it’s nothing new. 

I got up, fed the cat, made the coffee & my post workout baby poop drink and left the house. 

As I started the truck I looked back & saw…
My cooler full of beer and as I shook it, still fill of ice. 

I was like a crack addict. 

I was jonesing so bad to just sit in my truck with the radio on happily swilling Shiner Bock
and maybe even having a cigar (also sitting in a humidor back there) while totally relaxed in my sweet leather reclining seat with the sunroof & all of the windows open. 

Image

My psyche was trembling. 

Unfortunately (all too un) common sense took over & I put said truck in gear & drove to the gym (clutching a cold beer & perfectly moist cigar) and entered the pool with a heavy heart and yes, an empty belly.

It’s still out there and I can hear the angels singing from under the cooler lid though.

Image

Baby Poop Workout Drink

My after workout beverage looks like baby poop. 

Green. 

Dark, creepy green. 

Image

Like the poor child has been force fed spinach & broccoli not unlike a French goose gets extra grain for that oh so delicious foie gras and said child deposits the rented veggies over ice directly into my glass. 

Parents, if you’ve ever changed your sweet, innocent looking child’s incredibly incongruous undergarment, you know exactly what I mean. 

Don’t get me wrong, it’s delicious (Trader Joes Green Plant juice plus vanilla whey protein) but damn, it looks disgusting. 

I will however, continue powering this stuff down each weekday morning (especially since strawberry malts are a poor early morning weight loss tool) as it seems to be working and my pony keg is slowly becoming a twelve pack. 

Next up, salad.

With a burrito on it…

Image

Milestones & Kicking Chuck Norris’ *ss

As the exercise regimen continues I do hit the occasional milestone. 

My milestones however, are not typical. 

Recently… I was able to tie my shoes without holding my breath. 

My large compatriots know what I’m talking about. 

You sit in a chair or step, spread your legs in order to access your feet, maybe use one hand to lasso your foot with a shoe or strike some odd cheerleader/yoga pose to get at that elusive foot from the side, hold your breath & tie as fast as humanly possible before you pass out aaaaaaaaaaaaand…

Repeat. 

Image

I think today I may occasionally flaunt my newfound skill by retying my shoes is all sorts of scenarios such as:
1. Lying on my back with my foot on the air.
2. Bicycling. 
3. Riding a horse. 
4. Running with the bulls in Spain. 
5. Skipping rope. 
6. Kicking Chuck Norris’ *ss (“Hold on Chuck, I gotta tie my shoe without holding my breath”) Chuck will wait in awed silence for the continuation of his beating…
Just kidding. Chuck would calmly hold me down while ripping my feet from my legs, handing them to me & saying “Here, tie those shoes without holding your breath now b*tch!”

Or, maybe I’ll just keep my new super power to myself…

Image

Setting Goals

It’s good to start your day with a goal. 

I start mine with several. 

Goals:
1. Wake up. 
2. Try not to fart as I crawl over the wife & out of bed. 
3. Try not to go back to bed. 
4. Don’t drive past the gym to the donut store. 
5. Try not to cry as I work out. 
6. Try not to cry as I work out. 
7. Stop crying as I work out. 
8. Become a millionaire. 

Small things. 

Image

You don’t have to accomplish all of them, just work towards checking things off of your list. 

And now, I’m going to try crawling over the wife without farting…

Image

Six Pack

Six Pack. 

That’s what I heard when I walked into the pool room this morning. 

One of the Aqua-ettes called out “Is that Six Pack?!” and one of the Glamour Boys piped up with “Yeah baby!” through his fog of cologne. 

Apparently that’s what they call me when I’m not there (or at least when my head is under water). Six Pack…

I’m not sure what six packs look like where they spend their time but they must be HUGE. 

I’m wearing what I like to politely refer to as a “pony keg”

Image

The ladies heard that I spend a few days a week in the gym lifting weights (or at least staring at them with fierce determination) and amongst themselves have determined that I will, from this day forward, have the moniker of Six Pack. 

I suppose that if I have nicknames for my pool friends it stands to reason that they would have one (or many) for me and I guess Six Pack isn’t so bad. 

I’m gonna own it…

Muscle’s (Why I Don’t Have Them)

Let us take a moment to discuss muscles. 

Not just our regular every day muscles but the huge muscles of the perpetual protein shake swilling, horse hormone shooting, can’t do the hibbity dibbity, tosser of the free weights. 

Image

During my weight training, which consists of me projectile sweating until a small rain forest sprouts around me, I’ll typically lift as much as an 8oz barbell while trying desperately not to crap my pants. 

Next to me (every day I’m in the gym instead of the pool it seems) is a man working out who looks as though his muscles have grown their own muscles because they’ve each grown lonely and need a friend. 

He’s huge. 

As I’m struggling with the bench press I see him chuckling to himself & then outright laughing at me while he ties one of the weight bars into a perfect sailors knot and then breaks another one over his knee and proceeds to throw it into the sun. 

Image

I see him waddle over to the squat machine, pick the entire thing up and start curling it. 

Now, I know the workout life can be addicting but I’m not sure that I need to associate with the eternal muscle head since obviously the injections have done a number on his brain. 

As I left the gym he had finished his curls, set the squat machine down & had begun chewing on the corner of it while making strange contented noises. 

Image

I think I’ll stick with a smoothie…

The Dairy Section

Image

As I swam my laps this morning I had dairy on my mind. 

Cottage cheese as a matter of fact. 

Over the years as I’ve scooted up to the:

table/bar/picnic basket/vending machine/convenience store/drive thru/lunch counter/deli/hot dog stand…
I’ve gone from delicate skim milk to large curd cottage cheese on my *ss. 

The journey “from” large curd to small curd on the booty isn’t actually as long as the journey “to” but it’s infinitely more difficult. 

I was able to perform much of the “to” in the comfort of my very own house, from my very own (& incredibly comfy I must say) couch with a very weighty (metaphorically speaking) remote control in my hand and a large wonderful television at my beck & call. 

The “from” is enacted in the dark of night when only the asinine birds are awake & I stumble into a place smelling vaguely of my high school gym (Go Warriors!) and some sort of liniment that you’re only told about after the age of 97. 

It’s a slow, arduous process but I do see improvement occasionally in the (funhouse) mirror so I think I’ll continue. 

Although, that damned frozen pizza aisle is calling to me & my couch looks longingly at me as I drag my (insert donkey word) back into the house each morning.

I wave a tearful goodbye to my old friend & head back out to (reluctantly) greet the day…

Image

Miracle Nuggets

I thought since my back didn’t hurt as much that I was on the mend and 86’d the meds. 

I think I made a mistake. 

Of all the thinks I’ve thunked, that was an ill informed one & I’m paying the piper for my stupid thunking. 

Image

My workout consisted of tossing & turning all night with each toss accented by an “Aaaauuugggghhhh!!!!” and each turn by an “Oooohhhhh!!!!”

Doc, 
You’re right, I’m wrong.
You have the the knowledge & I have an empty head.
You’re good looking & I’m not attractive. 
(Is that enough groveling?)

Your halo is so bright that I can’t look directly at you. 

With my mouth full of little white miracle nuggets (pills) & a cocktail that I NOW KNOW FOR SURE WORKS, I’m back on the straight & narrow. 

More fuzzy news from the pool tomorrow…

Image

Better Living Through Chemistry

Chemistry is an amazing science. 

Image

I’m not talking about the chemistry between me & my special friend. (We go together like an oil spill on a duck. Bonding folks, bonding.)

I’m talking about better living through chemistry. 

I had a slight back injury last week that blossomed into a serious “I can’t walk” episode and my current meds weren’t doing the trick. 
After a call to the family doc & a new prescription I had salvation in my hands. 

I don’t think my doctor stressed “these might make you tired” enough. 

About a half hour after taking the new chemical cocktail that the King of Pop would have been be jealous of, drool began leaking out of the corner of my mouth & my entire face was sagging into the middle of my chest. 

Image

I was snoring with my eyes open while still somewhat awake yet semi comatose. 

It was wonderful. 

This morning in the pool I swam for 30 minutes under the influence & can’t seem to remember taking a breath. 

My back is on the mend & Doc…

I think I love you.