Archive for Thursday, September 7, 2000

Keeping fit, thanks to the music

September 7, 2000

Sitting in front of my keyboard filled with the sound of music in my heart.

Everyone within earshot of this office seemingly can hear the pounding bass line in my head.

Oh wait, it can be by heard by everyone.

The music I speak of does not come from my heart, but the aerobics class next door, which adds spirit to my day most every morning with the high-energy tunes BOOM-BA-BOOM BOOM-BA-BOOM that get the class participants through their grueling workout.

And you still wonder what happened to that insurance agency that used to be here?

That sweetheart of a deal to acquire this plush office had an added bonus no one counted on: aerobically fit women and loud music, too.

Does life get any better?

Ie never stepped foot in that workout room, but I feel as though I have.

One thin wall it a very thin wall is all that separates me from the rhythmic stepping and dancing routines that keeps the ladies taking the class in great shape, both physically and mentally.

As a result, I live vicariously through them.

When they are done with their workout when the music finally stops I feel good about myself. I drink a Crystal Light to celebrate their our accomplishment and get on with my day, a little tired and sore, but content.

It a good hurt.

Working out vicariously is the best way. It saves you a lot of money on the cost of a gym and other hidden expenses like workout clothes and Ben Gay.

Some people would tell me I am living a lie, but like George Costanza says, lways remember it not a lie if you believe it to be true.
Leave it to Costanza to offer me a daily dose of rationalization.

I not that delusional yet. Nor am I bald, unemployed or living with my parents, but working out has never been one of those things I looked forward to doing. I have a brother who celebrated his 41st birthday last week and has the body of a 25-year-old because he has made exercise a constant in his life.

I often have teased him that he lifts weights while the extent of my lifting is about 12 ounces from table top to mouth and the 12 ounces becomes lighter and lighter with each repetition.

I never liked weight lifting very much. I guess I am far too logical. I question things. I wonder why anyone would take part in an activity that requires you to pick something up only to put it down a few minutes later.

Anyone who has ever moved furniture realizes that weight lifting is impractical and essentially silly.

My exercise has always come in more practical ways. There had to be a tangible objective a touchdown to score, a fly ball to catch, a jumper to sink and a competitive spirit to get me motivated to exercise.

Of course, my college soccer coach would be the first well, maybe not THE first to tell me that those who excel on the field are those who put in the time inside the weight room.

That explains why I earn my daily bread writing about the achievements of others, instead of being the man scoring the winning touchdown. I was and still am quite competitive in the games I play. But I was blessed with a sense of realism that told me at an early age that slow and short was not a good combination for a professional athlete to possess.

Still, I found a way to get my competitive fix. I played indoor soccer and softball over the years and can hold my own with most weekend warriors my age (the key words being y age.

Last week, I ventured outdoors into the fiery pit of our August hell to play in a softball tournament with some of my buddies. No problem, I figured. It was a double-elimination tournament. We played our first game early in the morning. When I factored in that we suck, it wasn a reach to determine that we would be done before the sun reached its peak.

Little did I know our manager brought in some ringers.

We were actually pretty good.

Too good for 105 degrees, it should be pointed out.

Six games later, we were finally eliminated in the quarterfinal round of the 24-team tournament and I felt old, tired and ready to be put out of my misery. Three days later, I was still walking with a limp.

I should have played softball vicariously, too. Believe me, Ie learned my lesson.

Commenting has been disabled for this item.