That’s what my kids call my treadmill. Today, the dreadmill and I discovered an unexpected advantage to living in an old house: you can quickly, easily, unintentionally intensify your workout significantly by moving from the mostly-level living room into what turns out to be the ridiculously uphill dining room.
PIC calves burning
Yarr. I’ve had this treadmill for about a month now, and by gum, I am using it. I don’t own a scale, and I’m pretty sure I haven’t lost weight; but that wasn’t my immediate goal (even though I am most certainly too fat, and not just in a “Oh, my wife says she’s fat” way but seriously, I’m a fatty). My immediate goal was to get off the damn couch, and get to a point where I don’t look terrible, feel terrible, feel like I look terrible, and look like I feel terrible all the time.
And I am there! I do a half hour minimum, five days a week, 3.5 miles per hour minimum, and I “punch the invisible man,” as my kids call it, for at least part of the time. (I know food is a big component of health and weight loss, and I’m making changes there, too.)
So, I have more energy, I think I’m less moody and more optimistic, I’m sleeping better, and I have bruises all over the back of my hands because I keep whacking them on the treadmill handrails. Overall, net win. There are plenty of other workouts I could be doing, but this is the one I am doing, and I don’t see why I would stop doing it. As with so many other things in life, it’s working because I’m being consistent. I’m hoping to be in good enough shape by spring to be exercising to the point of weight lossBest workout album so far: Gnarls Barkley’s St. Elsewhere. It’s not just the beat, which is pretty brisk on most songs; it’s the atmosphere of “let’s revel delightfully in this sweaty misery” which I find motivating. What an amazing album. It should be written up as a case study of the intelligent, self-aware, artistic patient self-medicating for severe depression. Boy, that doesn’t make it sound like much fun. But it is fun!
Looking for a good song to excerpt, I came across this live version of “Transformer.” Holy wow, what a voice:
The Pogues are also pretty good for a strong beat and a sensation that we’re all just suffering bastards here, so why not get a little sweatier?
Also, I have tried all the ear buds in the house, which includes every brand from Dollar Tree to Mac, and they all fall out of my ears. Finally broke down and bought my own, which are JVC Gumy Inner Ear headphones, and they don’t fall out. The sound is fine. I can barely hear what is going on around me, which is a little alarming, but if that’s what you want, these do a good job, and are cheap.
Mrs. Stupid is kind of enjoying her stupid exercise. Didn’t see that coming, did you?