I’ve never really experienced celebrity status. Nor is it something I strive for. Nonetheless I’ve unwittingly become “known” within my Short Bus Noob class. That is to say, people know my name and I have no clue as to theirs. In last Thursday’s class the workout, such as it was, was a declining scale of reps (10, 9, 8, etc.) of dead lifts and push presses. Not a bad workout, if we were using real weight. The Rx for the dead lifts was 1.5 poods (you’d better believe the Trolls giggled their way through that explanation) for the dudes and 1 pood for the chicks. That translates into roughly 54 lbs. and 36 lbs. respectively. Meanwhile the push presses were to be performed merely with the PVC puss pipes.
Buff Billy Mays must have seen how I considered that to be contrary to my principles as walking, strutting example of physical perfection and nodded to me “you can use the bar”.
Damn right. About time someone recognized me for the freakish stud that I am. I felt like John Carter in that ungodly, horrible movie, “John Carter”. If you’ve seen that movie, you’re stupid. Basically this guy John Carter finds himself in Mars where all of the sudden he can run and jump like a motherfucker. That’s me in this short bus noob class. Not only did I use the bar (all 45 pounds of it, bitch), but I upgraded to 2 poods as well. I’ll be damned if I’m going to be seen deadlifting anything less than multiple poods.
That was pretty much it for the Thursday class. We timed ourselves doing this graduated scale of reps (3:53 for this freak of awesomeness), stretched and went about our business. While we were stretching I kept hearing my name. I paid no attention, of course, as who could know my name? Turns out they were talking about about me and my all-around badassedry. I guess people read other people’s names when they write their times on the board. Anyway, they were asking me how my times compared with that of the record holders of all the workouts that are posted around the gym. THAT sets a dangerous precedent. Now I’ve never done a PR for the Diane or any other lady-named workout, but I’ve seen the times, calculated the weight used and the amount of time I would estimate it would take me, and whereas the leaders’ scores are posed in seconds, mine would have to be calculated in days. Even without weights I doubt I could double these guys’ times. Thanks for bringing me back down to earth, bitches.
I was not enthused about the Saturday class. I was crazy hungover and in no mood to deal with equally hungover trolls. Things took a turn for the kickass pretty shortly though, as no sooner did I drop the g off in the porn room than a new, pretty hot chick came up and asked me if I was the instructor. If I was any sort of suave I would’ve immediately said yes and went right into instructing her about the downward dog. As it was, the utter shock on my face of being asked such an absurd question was clearly evident, as she immediately fixed her eyes upon our new instructor Tiny Jay Cutler. He’s about 5’ 4”, built of the brick shithouse mold and has the new-fangled flop haircut that all the young dorks are sporting these days. I was looking forward to silently mocking him, but sadly he turned out to be a pretty good dude. Anyway, Slim Sexy introduced herself to me (what is it with these people and knowing names?) and I could tell she wanted to do me. Either that, or she was trying to collect herself after mistaking a jumprope-challenged tool for a person who is qualified to give people any sort of fitness advice. She kind of separated into the crowd and I went into my stretching routine for everyone’s visual enjoyment.
TJC had us go for a quick 200 meter run. Oddly enough the parking lot is just as treacherous in the day. Also, Slim Sexy has nice form.
Once we got back we reviewed the exercises we had learned on Thursday and went over what our workout would be today. He showed us the rowing machine, which for some reason didn’t seem as painful the last time I did it. Perhaps it was because I was oozing Target boxed wine from my pores, but doing a 500m warmup nearly killed me.
From there, Tiny Jay Cutler showed us how to do Thrusters. Which I imagine would suck pretty badly if we were using anything other than the puss pipes (or the bar for self-described badasses like this guy). Basically you’re taking a front squat and then lifting the bar over your head.
TJC did a pretty good job of demonstrating the technique, I think. Afterwards he instructed us to partner up for the workout. You’d better believe I sauntered over to Slim Sexy and gave her the “you know you want this” look. I suppose there are advantages to knowing people’s names.
Our workout was to row 200m and then do 10 thrusters. Not rotating, mind you. One person sat there while the other rowed and then got up to do their thrusters. We were to do three rounds of this. I was somewhat appalled by this wasting of time, but after the first round I was thankful for my break as I could feel the adverse affect cheap wine has on your athletic performance before I got past 100m.
Dammit, I thought the 2011 vintage of Target’s winery was supposed to be a good one.
Both being in reasonable shape we finished the workout faster than most and had time to make small talk. Apparently she is not satisfied with the classes at 24 hour Fitness and was looking to be challenged.
Good luck with that in this noob class.
Meanwhile a sassy little emo chick joined the conversation and expressed how she had tried the Groupon at the other box (where I had previously gone) and couldn’t handle the fast ramp up. She liked this better as they eased her into it.
“Like an old man easing into a warm bath”. I said. The Seinfeld reference was lost on them, and probably came across a little creepy. Luckily, my creepiness was interrupted by g yelling across the room:
“Daddy, I have to go potty real bad! I’m holding my penis".
Well shit just got real here, if it’s at the penis-holding level. I grabbed his hand and led him through the sweaty trolls to the bathroom. Turns out the penis-holding was a farce and he just wanted to get out of the porn room. Duped again.
Sympathizing with his impatience I skipped the stretching and got him out of there. In retrospect, this was a big mistake. While it made it possible for us to get to the monster truck rally on time, I’ve had a severe hitch in my giddyup since. I’ll probably be recovered just in time to get back at it tomorrow night, where I’m told we’re going to step it up a notch. Who knows what that means. Jumping jacks maybe?
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