Sunday, February 05, 2006
Welcome back, NordicTrack
Hello, old friend. Welcome back into my life.
Yes, yes, you've had several incarnations: treadmill, living room art, extra-bedroom clothes rack, dust collector.
Now, though, I need you, man. I'm so out of shape I can't stand myself.
All I do is sit on my hind end -- at work, in my truck, behind this home computer. None of that will change. But I can start hangin' out with you again.
Not much at first: Five minutes a day. That's all. Any more and I'll burn out. So, just five minutes a day.
And with you in your new home, you're the first thing I'll see every morning. Yep, right off my side of the bed. My tennis shoes will live right there, too.
So, no excuses. None. Five minutes per day. There's a TV in the bedroom, to keep me from being bored. And you have a rack for holding books.
I think we'll get along great. Five minutes per day the first week. Heck, dude, I can do five minutes hung plumb over, if need be.
Welcome back, NordicTrack! Soon, I'll be as buff as the guy in the picture!
So the love of my life has talked since her last doctor's visit the need of taking the piles of stuff off her treadmill. Talk's purty cheap, though, and the doc's visit was a month ago.
So finally, the motivation to unwrap the motivator finally came yesterday. So right there -- like your's, ER -- the open and available treadmill in front of the TV in the bedroom is ready and somewhat waiting.
Five minutes per day to start, and it's a fantastic idea. I should jump on the thing myself, and I know this. I could watch the morning version of news or SportsCenter and get in my five minutes. But it hasn't happened yet, and I'm not sure when it'll start, either for me or the love of my life.
She's packin' on a couple extra pounds this weekend though, and those sinus-exploding levels of congestion will postpone her use. And while she's at the grocery store with the 3-year-old muskrat, now's a fantastic time for me to jump on he motivator while watching all this over-hyped pre-Super Bowl coverage. But, alas, I also note this is a fantastic time to grab that nap.
Dilemma? You bet. Procrastination, it seems, is a better fit for those of us who likely need the motivator more than most. Concerns of soreness and unneeded extra breathing -- Anybody got a nice stogey? -- limit my motivation to jump on the motivator.
So, ER, you gonna let us know all about your first five-minute walk? I'll tell you mine ... when and if it occurs.
I have a "Gazelle", and a weight bench, both sadly neglected.
As soon as I figure out a way to attatch an ash tray, a Beer holder, and a computer monitor and keyboard to them, I will be working out like a fiend.
What is it that the commercial says? 20 minutes per day for 6 weeks, and I will look like the dude in the pitchure?
Teditor, a couple of things happened all at once the past week:
I started aching in the morning from lack of physical exertion, not from physical exertion and started wanting to dig out the NT; yesterday, climbing in and out of my truck several times to take pictures between here and Corn, Okla., then walking around the Indian Hallf of Fame at Anadarko, Okla., left me SORE this morning; and, what I thought was going to be an easy of the transfer from an unused bedroom to the master bedroom because an absolute CHORE from hell that required leverage, the uses of long-forgotten muscles, a dolly and an allen wrench, taking the damn thing apart, heaving it down the hallway and putting it back together, all of which was exercise in itself. So, the first five minutes, which came immediately after the thing was put back together, was actually easy, on top of the Corn and Anadarko walking and the NT dismantling and reputtingbacktogether!
Ans damned if Dr. ER and I didn't just get bck from Akin's, the health food store!
Well. When they come up with organic low-fat whiskey, we'll talk.
"Yes, sir, we have the low-fat fifths of whiskey ruight here," clerk says.
"It's awful small," ER says.
"It's actually a tenth, for the price of a fifth, sir."
"$%&*(&," ER says.
(Prents wrist to Trixie for slappin'.)
I do believe if you did the research, you'd find that whiskey is 100 percent fat-free and has no transfats or cholesterol. It's a doggone health food (especially if you believe my late uncle Dolph, who lived to 98. Others in the fambly made it clean to 101.)
Oops, gotta run -- my pizza's ready.
They are all fat free, except for one of my favorites, Bailey's Irish Creme.