Bicep Curl

Let me say this about that.

There is no way around it.  I’m fat.  But if you look around – I’m not alone.  It is one of God’s little jokes that when you get older and can afford more of life’s pleasures, anything you put in your mouth will add twice it’s weight in body poundage.  To compound the dilemma, just when you need to exercise the most to lose those unwanted pounds, your old body is least able to do it.  This conundrum is one of the worst parts of getting old.

I can simply look at a raisin - through binoculars from 200 yards away – and gain eight pounds.  The last time I LOST eight pounds, it took more physical effort than was required to build the Hoover Dam.  For old farts like myself, weight is a one way street.  If you put it on, it’s there forever.

My wife used to ask me if certain of her outfits made her look fat.  Like most guys, I never asked her if any of my outfits made me look fat – it just never occurred to me to inquire.  But the other day, she looked at me and said:  ” You know Honey, that outfit makes you look fat.”   The problem was - I was in the shower…   

Everyone knows that losing weight requires diet AND exercise.  But, as I mentioned, it’s tough for old people to exercise because our tired old bones and muscles are preparing themselves to, uh well ……  die, and consider exercise an unnecessary use of what little capacity they have left.  A buddy of mine suggested yoga as a light-impact way to keep my body loose and lose a little weight in the bargain.

I decided to give it a try and enrolled in a yoga class at a local junior college.  The first night I went to class, I was introduced to our instructor who turned out to be a young woman roughly one-half century younger than me with less body fat than an anorexic Somalian.  The first thing she asked the class to do was to sit on the floor and put our right foot behind our head.

“What ??”

Shambo:  “Let me get this straight, Miss.  You want me to put my foot behind my head?”

Yoga Instructor:  “Yes sir.  Just raise your right leg, grasp your foot with both hands, and place it behind your head.”

I knew from the beginning this was not going to end well.  I lifted my leg and tugged at my foot to force it behind my head.  With one leg in the air and straining as hard as I could to pull my foot behind my head, the inevitable confluence of a high fiber diet and 225 pounds of fat produced a fart of Biblical proportions.  I swear to God, the seismic equipment at Los Alamos National Laboratory must have registered a 7.0.  The instructor’s headband was blown half-way across the room and the class ran for the door to escape near certain asphyxiation.

With my yoga career cut short, I decided to join a local gym and secure the services of a professional trainer.  Maybe with professional help, I reasoned, I could construct an exercise program more suited to a 65-year old man with a body roughly the size of a Zeppelin hanger.

My first day at the gym consisted primarily of signing a contract that bound me to this ‘fitness center’ until the day the Guantanamo Bay terrorists are given the key-to-the-city by the mayor of New York.  Afterward, I was given a tour of the place by one of the ‘facilitators’, who I found out later earn their living by standing near you and screaming …… “One more, come on, just one more !!”

Coincidentally, my first day at the gym must have occurred on “Big Titty Day”, even though I saw no notices on the bulletin board or signs in the parking lot.  As best as I could surmise, “Big Titty Day” consisted of young women with bulbous mammaries performing procedures that involved spreading their legs open as far as possible while a ‘facilitor’ stands in front of them and screams ….. “One more, come on, just one more !!”

Every guy who hangs around bars as much as I do has heard of an exercise known as the “Twelve-Inch Curl.”  It is performed exactly like the exercise called the ‘bicep curl’ where one lifts a dumbbell from his side to his chest, by flexing his bicep muscle.  The “Twelve-Inch Curl” is performed the same way, only substituting a martini in place of the dumbbell.  Great for the biceps – and the attitude.  However, one may experience some pangs of guilt at sipping martinis at a bar all afternoon rather than working out at the gym.  Soooo, I have developed a solution …… when the bartender sets the next martini in front of you, have him scream:  “One more, come on, just one more !!”

And, that’s all I have to say about that.

Shambo