XXXSport Fitness

Today's society is infatuated with being healthy...duh, right? Healthy eating habits, regular exercise routines, vitamins, light beer, the desire of avoiding cancer, or at least man-boobs are unavoidable "necessities" bombarded upon us innocent bystanders on a daily basis. My current situation being a prime example. I am feverishly typing away in a coffee shop delightfully located between a Whole Foods and a 24 Hour Fitness, I'm dead serious. To my right, patron after patron, foaming at the mouth, flood into Whole Foods to get their daily allotment of multi-grain and organic...whatever. To my left, a countless number of speed walking pulse checkers, are desperately trying to claim their favorite elliptical machine before the nightly rush. That being said, I have been unable to escape the craze. Matter-of-fact, I remember the exact moment I fell into their trap. I was taking a break from flipping channels between America's Lowest Self Esteem Top Model and Maxim's 100 Sexiest Boob-Jobs. After walking 20 feet to the refrigerator, sadly breathing heavier than anyone should after such a distance and discovering I had put an empty Ben and Jerry's ice cream carton back in the freezer, I knew some changes must be made. The next day I joined a gym.

I had chosen XSport Fitness, solely based on its proximity to my apartment. Much to my own shock, my XSport Fitness experience had been going really well. I started enjoying running on the treadmill and surprising myself with the increased weight and reps I was able to pound out. Mostly, I enjoyed the "tightening" my body was experiencing...a difference undetectable by family, friends, and pretty much everyone besides a scale calibrated to the hundredth of a pound.

"So, case closed? Sweet story, you used to mock people for wanting to be healthy and now you drank the Cool-Aid."

No, not at all. All that mumbo jumbo was just a lead in, the real blood and guts is coming up. So zip it and keep reading...dick.

Anyway, a few months ago I began regularly going to the gym. The day in question had been progressing along the same as any other day at the gym. I had ran a few miles, done a few chest exercises, and had just sat down at a new machine to work my back muscles. I was minding my own business when I looked up and noticed a male trainer setting up an exercise for a female trainee. So far a fairly normal happening at the gym. Trainers were leading clients all over the place, helping set up workouts, spotting lifters, etc. However, this particular duo caught my eye. I believe it was because they were both fairly attractive individuals who seemed to be flirting pretty heavily. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but it was obvious every time the meat head trainer managed to let out a monosyllabic grunt the girl would laugh, smile, and stick her chest out a few extra inches. Still, no big deal, but they were entertaining, so I kept watching.

I watched as the trainer set up the young coed's next exercise. He attached an elastic rope thingy to an overhead bar, creating a large tear-drop shaped loop hanging from the bar. Meanwhile, I had started my second set of lat pull-downs, not sure if that is really what I was doing but it's the only back exercise I know the proper name for. All the while, I was wondering what the loop was to be used for. I believe I was on rep 4 of 10 when I found out. The female was doing pull ups, putting her knees through the loop so as to relieve some of the weight for the pull up. Now, try to picture this. Take a moment to clear your mind. Ready? The female trainee had her back to me, and the male trainer was facing my direction. She jumped up and grabbed the overhead bar. The trainer wrapped the loop around her knees simultaneously dropping to his. From a kneeling position he starred up at her, he grabbed her waist, and she started doing pull ups. Time immediately switched to slow motion. From my angle I watched in horror as this gal repeatedly dipped her holy-of-hollies into this guy's face. He must have been keeping count of the reps, but since I couldn't hear them from my distance it just looked like he was starring up at her with his mouth wide open. Needless to say I had stopped lifting, was merely standing still while grasping the bar of my own machine above my head, mouth wide open, and unable to blink. As she neared the end of her set she started to struggle and her body began shaking. I quickly looked around to see if anyone else was noticing this intimate bedroom scene unfolding in the middle of the gym. nope, no one. Everyone else was far too enamored in their own physique to take heed. I returned my attention to the couple, just in time to watch as she struggled to finish her last rep. She was now violently shaking, inching closer to the bar above her head. Finally, at the exact moment she finished her last pull up she threw her head back, letting a climactic squeal ring forth. Instinctively I released the weights from my own machine to cover my open mouth, resulting in a loud crash as they slammed back in place. Of course, this drew the angry gaze of roughly ten people, not the oral pleasure seminar taking place center stage.

Embarrassed, both from making a ruckus and from witnessing the most lewd public behavior I have ever seen (not true, Amsterdam was quite racy...but it's expected there), I quickly scurried away. I glanced back to see the trainer catch the exhausted girl in his arm, and wiping the shimmer from his mouth with the sleeve of his other arm. That last sentence may have been fabricated, but he might as well have. Seeking refuge at the locker room sink, I splashed cold water on my face, and attempted to gather my thoughts. What had I just witnessed? Could it have been a rare fluke? Perhaps the perfect alignment of distance from the event, angle from where I was positioned, and full moon played this trick on me? I concluded that must have been the case. I grabbed a towel, dried my face, slowed my breathing, and decided to return to the gym to finish my workout...but I quickly realized there is no coming back from something like that.

I walked back into the gym and all I could see was pure sexual hedonism. Women laying on their backs thrusting their pelvises into the air and men bent over performing some exercise with spotter standing uncomfortably close behind them. I started making my way to the bikes, located on the opposite end of the facility, and as far away as I could get from the love making. I was about to reach the bikes and so happened to lift my gaze, which had been firmly fixed on the floor, only to look straight into the yoga studio. Again I was taken off guard when my eyes were met with row upon row of women performing the "face down ass up" position. I immediately tripped, landing on my stomach, and once again drawing the attention of gym-goers. I crawled to my feet, threw my hands up, and yelled out loud, "that's it!" Then I walked straight out the front door. Enough was enough for one day.

My walk home gave me time to cool down and gather my thoughts. It even made sense after a while. The gym is where people go to look good, and just down the road from wishing to look good is trying to wrangle someone into the sack. Of course these people are going to wear the smallest possible workout clothes, and perform exercises developed by the fitness gurus at Penthouse. Perhaps the hardest part to swallow, not literally you dirty dirty reader, was the fact I was there for pretty much the same reason. Not to pick up women, I have my lady, but to look good naked. I guess there is some sort of overall wellness associated with working out, but my motivator is the pursuit of abs, veins, and 3% body fat...I have so far to go it's laughable. But that's OK! I have cum to terms with the fact I pay a monthly fee to watch live soft-core porn, and maybe get fit in the process!

Colossal Awakening

Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed myself that night. I had seen friends, laughed, slugged a few beers, and blasted some music on the drive home. Unique, however, that evening was not. Thus far it was exactly the same as any other night. Surely by the next morning my memory of the evening's happenings would already have melted away in my internal crock pot, rendering it undecipherable from any of the other chunks of cheese...I mean nights out.

I pulled my car up the driveway of my parents' house and proceeded inside. As customary, I grabbed something to drink, said hello to my father, and retreated to the cool sanctuary of the basement. I lay on the couch watching TV and feeling...well feeling next to nothing besides a slight buzz. Nothing isn't exactly accurate, rather I felt uninspired and disillusioned. Not towards people, places, or events, but about my purpose and placement on this chunk of rock (grand-scheme philosophy sort of stuff...you follow me.) Perhaps that is why each evening the thought of going out still held some allure; for sure enough each night the same muddled thoughts of insignificance and lack of direction would creep up on my consciousness, but at least I could be drunk minuscule and lost. Yeah, Pat, fantastic reasoning.

I heard a few muffled footsteps from the floor above, most likely my father calling it a night and heading to bed. Instinctively I switched to the old man channel, sure enough that night's John Wayne movie just ended; a confirmation my father had gone to bed. I continued laying in the dark basement, the glow of the television making me squint, and the pointless babel making my head hurt, when it began.

What began? Hurry! - Actual outbursts from enthralled readers...me amusing myself with thoughts of grandeur. And back to reality.

The rain pattering against the window caught my attention. Unusual considering it wasn't raining hard, and it was barely audible above the crap blaring on the television. I hit the mute button, allowing the sound outside to ensnare me fully, as though a Homeresque Siren were luring me. Lifting myself from the couch, I proceeded to grab the stool next to the pool table and positioned it under the window. Quickly I removed the window screen, silently I cranked the lever opening my confines to the outside world, and hoisted myself through the opening; series of events performed via muscle memory from all the times I escaped my parents' house for...let's say, late night adventures.

Immediately my eyes became fixed on the sky. Absolute brilliance. The combination of stars intermittently dispersed between the ominous clouds, and sporadic illumination from the lightening in the distance was phenomenal. No no, fucking phenomenal, it sounds more emphatic. Somehow I had made my way from the side of the house, where the basement window is, to smack-dab in the middle of the driveway. I say somehow because I have no recollection of ever diverting my eyes in any direction other than upwards. I opened my arms, trying to feel as many drops as possible, all the while daring not to blink despite the rain hitting my face and eyes. Tim Robins in The Shawshank Redemption, sans the crawl through fecal matter.

Thoughts began pulsing somewhere within, intensifying with each passing second. I began picturing myself from a third person perspective, standing there in the middle of the driveway. Expanding my thoughts, I pictured our planet spinning like a top. Moving ever further away, I pictured Earth hurdling through space around the Sun. Speeding outward my mind thought of our galaxy infinitely coursing through time, joining the other solar systems on our arm of the galaxy. I had convinced myself I could physically feel my own movement through space. The heavens seemed to be calling me, the rain acting as their messenger. Calmly and gradually, as the rain soaked my body and my skin absorbed the moisture, a sense of acceptance and peace found refuge within. I was elated...thankful. Emotions, start your engines. My eyes started producing a liquid of their own, damn eyes. At least the rain would mask my vulnerability from the prying eyes of neighbors. Yeah, like me weeping for joy is what a neighbor would latch onto had they been watching the night's events unfold. More like, this idiot better be on drugs or I'm having his ass committed.

It was a monumental moment in my life. No longer would cynicism drive my thoughts towards the blandness in life. Rather I felt I now had the ability to seek the positive attributes cleverly hidden in every day life, yet still be awestruck at the special occasions which come around every so often. Humanity's insignificance, universally speaking, is of no importance. It is our lives, and our choice to live peacefully and with fulfillment. I had received a gift that night.

Mystically and surprising as my awakening had come, it quietly retreated. I finally took my eyes away from the sky, and peacefully made my way back inside. I closed the window, put the screen back on, and returned the stool to its proper place. As I laid back down on the couch, also known as my bed...I preferred it to my bed upstairs, I felt wonderful. I felt wonderful about the next day, about school, about my place and course through life. Oh, and I couldn't wait to meet my friends tomorrow at the local watering hole.

Your 12-Month Forecast

Roughly twelve months ago I became a resident of Chicago. Summer was just winding down, and truth be told I was ready for it to end. After enduring my twentieth summer in Omaha, land of 90 degree average temperature and "it might as well be raining" humidity, enough was enough for one year. Chicago provided immediate relief. The next four weeks were nothing but blue skies, around 80 degrees each day, and just the loveliest breeze coming off the lake. My days were spent going to the beach, exploring Chicago via walking, playing bags, and pretty much every other enjoyable outdoor activity you can think of...yeah I did them all bitches!

Autumn finally arrived. Again, I wasn't sad to see the summer end...if only I had known then what I know now. Days became a little more cloudy and rain became more frequent. Oblivious to soul shattering misery that is Chicago weather, I thought nothing of it. My birthday is a fall event, I have always enjoyed the switch from shorts and T-shirts to jeans and sweatshirts, and college football was starting up (nothing is more blissful than watching the Husker Blackshirts smash an opposing QB into a lifeless puddle on the turf.) Needless to say, my spirits were high. In fact, my spirits towards the weather stayed high until about May. Hailing from Omaha, NE, I am no stranger to life ending cold. Upon my arrival in Chicago everyone bombarded me with statements like, "Are you ready for the winter?" Or, "Get ready winter is coming." Each comment made with overly exaggerated ominous qualities. Truthfully, winter wasn't so bad. Yeah it snowed a lot, and yeah the slush on every street corner required an Olympic triple jump maneuver to bypass wet socks. However, the snow usually melted within a few days. It wasn't like Omaha, where it snows in October and that snow freaking stays until April. Chicago got cold, but I took it. I expected it to get cold. I believe my expectation of the cold, as it rightfully should be during the winter months, is what made it easy to handle. That, and the agreement Mother Nature had with God that sunlight would be an essential part of life on Earth. Apparently old Mother Nature is a lying whore, who in her hundredth eon is losing her touch. Here's a hint you blue haired bitch, this little patch of land located in the middle of America, yeah we still get four seasons.

The final motivator to keep trekking through winter were the numerous promises I received regarding the "mecca" of all summers. Remember those sensationalists, the ones that kept warning me of a terrible winter. Well, for everyone one of those ignorant bastards there were 50 times more raving about the majestic Chicago summers. Daryl down the street would say, "Don't worry, the summers here are amazing." Eddy from work used to tell me daily, "I spend every weekend at the beach, my tan is freaking sweet." Like I cared about Ed's freaking tan. The message was clear, Chicago must have an amazing summer. The idea of unparalleled warmth and sunlight was planted in my brain, and I was ready for summer.

Thus far my Chicago weather was right on par. It wasn't until mid May when I started to worry. It was raining daily, and temperatures had yet to rise to an acceptable "warm month" level. Initially I chalked it up to an abnormally rainy spring, which just meant we were getting the crappy weather out of the way for bliss sure to come. Well, my bliss never came...ever. The summer never produced anything remotely acceptable for summer weather. I am pretty sure I was wearing a sweatshirt on the forth of July. That last statement can't be made with 100% surety, but considering it rains all the time in Chicago and I am constantly cold, lets just go ahead and assume I am telling the truth. Around the end of July I began asking myself where exactly am I living. Is this Seattle? No, Seattle can't hold a candle to this shitty weather. Perhaps Alaska, considering the seemingly endless days without sunshine. No not Alaska either, the Northern Lights provide some illumination. I finally concluded I actually was living in Chicago, IL. Or Siberia. I haven't been able to decipher any differences between the tundra from either location, so it's Chicago, IL, or Siberia. Some hope still lay buried deep in my now frozen heart that August would bring some pleasantness. Nope, wrong again. I only blame myself for being optimistic, which only made the crash back to reality that much more demoralizing.

Who knew my body actually required a few months of nice weather before I lost all capability of rational thought and reason? As each rain filled crap shoot, a.k.a. a day, passes I slip further and further into some psychopathic abyss. Let this be a warning to all you Daryl and Eddy's out there. All you promisers of heaven on Earth, June-August. I'm out there. And when I find you, don't give me lines such as, "Oh this was an off year usually we have fantastic summers, please don't water board me." I didn't listen to the ones that already fed me those lines, and I won't be listening again until I personally witness some decent weather. It boils down to a waiting game. Either I will find each and every one of the aforementioned individuals, or I will lose my freaking mind sometime this upcoming winter. Which will most likely lead to my plunge through the ice on Lake Michigan to a watery demise. So, twelve months living in Chicago and this god forsaken weather has broken me. The lake-effect, aint it a bitch.

Rise and Shine

My eyes slowly opened. It was dark, but the street light shed a faint glow across my current resting place. The gutter, obviously a less than desirable bed, was co-inhabited by a disease spreading monstrosity...a rat. As my "friend" continued down the street, shortly after passing roughly a foot and a half past my face, I became aware of a drilling pain centralized in the back of my skull. Sitting up on the curb, my hand moved across a large knot on the back of my head. I didn't need the warm liquid on my finger tips to confirm I was heavily bleeding. The dark, almost blackish, puddle where my head lay moments ago had made that message abundantly clear. Despite the fact I could barely see, primarily because the painful pulse bumping through my brain blurred my vision, I managed to stagger to my feet. Instinctively I felt my pockets for the essentials: wallet, cell phone, and keys. I had none of the aforementioned items, and needless to say began spewing an endless stream of obscenities...I've been known to do that in times of extreme frustration.

None of the buildings in my general vicinity were of any familiarity, so with head down I walked to the closest intersection. Surprise Surprise, I had never heard of these streets. Questions such as, "How the fuck did I get here?" and "Why in the hell is my head bashed open?" would have been mysteries I would have started trying to answer, but thinking only made my head hurt more. Home was the only place I wanted to be and the only riddle I was willing to tackle at the moment. Several minutes later, and a few blocks distance from where I came to, I noticed the lake was only about a block and half to my right. I knew the lack of buildings close to the lake would provide a good enough vantage to gain some sort of bearings. I picked up my pace and headed lake ward.

The bright lights from the city were clearly visible filling the night sky to my south...the direction I needed to go, since I only lived about a $5 cab ride north of downtown. What I would assume was a 3 hour walk felt like 12, and was filled with perhaps 50 people starring at me in horror. A few, I surmise, would have tried to approach me, though my blood soaked shirt and awkward steps kept everyone at a distance...on the other side of the street. Nothing says welcome to the neighborhood like a scowling face and the compulsory tightened clutch of one's wallet/purse.

I finally recognized some buildings, eventually some streets, and managed to get home. Keys being gone and all I was forced to throw a rock, discovered in a neighbors garden, through my window. At that point I really didn't care about a broken window. Getting to my bed was the only objective...by any means necessary. I probably would have thrown a small child threw the window had one been handier than the rock next door. The last thought I had, directly before I feel into an Aspirin induced slumber, was, "Hopefully my third day living in Chicago goes a little better."

This being my first blog and first posting on said blog, I had absolutely no idea what to write...so I made something up! Wouldn't that have been a great story had it been true? Wouldn't a reader think, "Wow, this guy lives a crazy intriguing life?" I would think people would read my first posting and just come salivating back for more, most likely checking daily to catch the next mysterious installment in the life of Pat. But, since it wasn't an actual event what will potential readers think of me now? I most likely have sealed my fate as a blogger on the first posting. I'll take my chances. Other than the fact I am not native to Chicago, and I live somewhere north of downtown, my story is sadly fictional. Fear not reader, I have plenty of exciting tales (ones that actually happened) and random thoughts that will soon fill your eagerly awaiting brains. Okay, since I don't know how to wrap this opening blog up, I will just do it abruptly.

P.S. I started this blog because a friend of mine knew I liked to write and sent me a link to blogspot.com or where ever it is I am currently writing this crap. But about halfway through my little story I realized no one is reading this. I have no idea how anyone would happen upon it, let alone take the time to read the whole thing. Then, to top it all off, I finished the story and started talking to "readers!" Point being, this whole first time blogging experience has made me feel completely insane. I might as well be facing a wall and talking out loud to myself. Or better yet, I should go downtown and just start shouting at people walking by...I would have vastly more people listening to me.