Ah yes, that last frontier, that one bit that no amount of studying, debating, excusing or justifying will get away from: personal health. That’s my next thing to overcome, and then I think I’ll be one pretty joyful motherfucker.
Happily, it’s not been a downward trend the last 4 years or so:
But going from roughly 230-something to 210-something is merely a case of dropping endless snacks and junk food into my head. Cutting out something and then not adding other activity is just a recipe for disaster, waiting gingerly for something else to go wrong and then you’re back to square one.
I finally joined a gym this past Tuesday, and I’ve had workout sessions on Thursday and Saturday, with professional assistance in doing so. I’m using an interesting methodology to ensure continued attendance: I joined a stupidly expensive club. Like, where you expect Geishas to be holding your free iPod for you breathlessly until you return that day. This is the heretofore-unknown Capitalist Health Program: Spend a Lot of Money and feel like you’re totally blowing cash if you don’t go. I’m signed up for a year and I even read the contract. What a great piece of work! When your year is up, if you don’t send a registered letter saying you’re done with them (or sign up for another year), they start charging you even more. The best part is I knew this and signed it anyway, which gives me even more incentive to pay attention. (Other bonus: If you move away and there’s another club in the chain within 25 miles, you can’t drop the membership claiming you’re not nearby).
I’ll never forget this kid: he was on IRC, a little trash-talking knobjob who worked out obsessively, had a lot of photos of himself up flexing his muscles, and generally added to the general quality of online life. Picked a lot of fights as a matter of course, and one of my favorite memories was his challenging everyone in the IRC channel to a fistfight at the next Defcon.
All well and good, and the dustbin of history will welcome that little punk happily, except for one little exchange where I said it was my hope to improve my physical fitness.
“You will fail!” said Mister Fistfight. “You’re just like all the rest of these people – no discipline, no nerve. You say you’ll stick the course and you have no discipline and you go back to your chair.”
Well, time to see who’s right. Now, if you don’t mind, I have an appointment with some Geishas.
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