Exercise - the Devil's dance. 


It's amazing, but I've finally decided that it's time to get back into shape.  Of course the terminology of "Getting back into shape," is quite the misnomer, as I don't remember ever being in that great of shape to begin with - so just what is there to 'get back' to?  Regardless, I'm tired of breaking a sweat when sucking on an ice cube.

When you think about it, exercise is really very silly.  In the old caveman days, we'd spend weeks or maybe even months trying to find something to kill (or gather, if you were the type of caveman that had just gotten her nails polished).  By the time you actually sat down to a good hearty meal you had been without food long enough to make Mary-Kate Olson jealous.  Your only hope was to eat enough that you wouldn't die before you had a chance to gorge yourself again.

In modern times we've turned the eating/exercise process completely inside out.  We used to eat as much as possible to support the Caveman workout of stalking woolly mammoths for hundreds of miles while being chased by ill mannered dinosaurs.  Now we eat a low carb salad (since when did salads have carbs anyway?), then spend an hour or two on the stairmaster to burn it off.  It's completely backwards!  It's like filling your car up with gas, then immediately driving around the block for a couple of hours just to burn what you just put in it.  See, it's silly huh?

As silly as it is, I'm not about to say that this turnabout of caloric habits is necessarily bad.  As recently as a hundred years ago, people that packed a little extra around the waistline were considered attractive, apparently because they demonstrated that they had enough wealth to afford to eat.  Imagine what that would be like today: the gigantic women at state fairs that have scones tucked under each arm while burritos dangle out of their mouths like cigarettes would be the equivalent of Victoria's Secret models.  The big guys with hairy backs, size 53 pants, and Sloppy Joe shrapnel all over their tank tops would be hunks.  Sometimes change is good!

But back to me.

Last week I had the crazy idea to train for a triathalon.  Not the "Ironman" kind where the competitors swim from Honolulu to San Diego, ride their bike across the continental United States, then finish up with a quick run to the Centari star cluster; I'm thinking more of along the lines of the "Why Not Triathalon" in Boise, Idaho.  This is a much more reasonable 500 yards swim, 12 miles bike ride, and a three or four mile run (those numbers might not be entirely accurate, but it really won't matter to me because I'll be too busy vomiting for the last 95% of the event to really pay that close attention to the distance).

I'm very fickle, because on one hand I definitely like the idea of training hard and pushing towards a physical goal.  But on the other hand I like to sit around and watch the lawn grow.  It's quite the dichotomy, ideal vs realistic.

It's hard to say how the whole thing will work out (no pun intended).  Will I actually stick to the program and compete in an event that is over a year away from now?  Or will I just fantasize about running laps around the neighborhood while sucking on an ice cube?

Guess we'll all just have to wait and find out.  In the meantime I just saw an incredibly attractive woman scarf down an entire side off beef, better get the mojo on... 

Anyone Hungry?  Hail to the Taco Bell Arena


NOTE: this was originally submitted (and published) in "The Arbiter" - the student newspaper of Boise State University regarding their indoor arena ("The Pavillion") being renamed to "Taco Bell Arena."  This blog appears word for word as it does on The Arbiter site - I know because I just cut and pasted it.  Check out the link and leave a comment at this story's web address: http://www.arbiteronline.com/vnews/display.v/ART/2004/07/14/40f5df19dd1c6   I'd really like to keep writing material like this for them, so I'm hoping that they'll recieve enough positive response that they'll let me do more (that's where you come in; I'll be your best friend I promise).

But I digress, on to the story...

 

The way I see it, good ideas are usually few and far between. They are so rare that when we actually have one, we bask in its ideological glory by regular means of gloating to our friends, family, and Internet sex pals. Sometimes a good idea will come about slowly and deliberately, but they usually manifest themselves like an abrupt sneeze at a fancy restaurant: loudly and without the common courtesy of foreshadowing. I’ve had many great ideas in my time, and have been witness to even more; but nothing compares to the recent conception of “TACO BELL ARENA.”

For those of you who aren’t up on recent events, Taco Bell recently bought the naming rights to the Boise State Pavilion for a whopping 4 million bucks! That’s more than 2,515,723 Nacho Cheese Chalupas. Even if you break the payments down to and annual basis, we’re still talking over 83,594 Grilled Stuffed Burritos per year!

So in lieu of The Pavillion, we now have Taco Bell Arena. Personally I like tacos and indigestion, so I headed down to the local Taco Bell on Broadway Avenue for a little glimpse of what Boise State can expect for the next 15 years.As luck would have it, there was a fender bender in the intersection in front of the restaurant, so some good Samaritan had taken it upon himself to direct traffic away from the horrendous scene of twisted metal and human carnage- well as much human carnage as you can get for a quarter inch ding on an SUV bumper-until the police could come and politely tell both parties (and the self appointed traffic flagger) not to bother them unless an accident actually happened. Needless to say, I asked our good Samaritan for the best route to Taco Bell, and in his excited state two things happened: 1) He told me to perform a rather impossible sexual act on myself, and 2.) I ended up about a quarter of a mile away from Taco Bell. In all, I’d rate this driving experience at least five points higher than any encounter I’ve had with the Boise State traffic crew on account of personality and efficiency. Hopefully the Taco Bell Arena talent scouts were in the area.

Exhilarated after a seven minute detour, I finally stepped foot into our beloved Taco Bell. One thing I’ve noticed about fast food chains is that each of them has their own personal scent; Subway, for instance, always smells like bread dough and gym socks. Taco Bell is no exception to this rule. As I opened the glass door, I was overcome by an aroma-avalanche of refried beans and cat food (Imagine the movie “Backdraft”, but with the odor instead of flames). Wind burned, I took my place behind a windy line of a dozen people—including six kids who changed their orders no less than five times each. Eventually, I ordered some kind of taco pizza (in actually it looked more like a regular burrito that someone forgot to roll up), I tossed back a couple of Tums, and basked in the relaxing glow of a partially wiped off table.

The way I look at it the Taco Bell Arena is going to be a hit. In fact, I’m honestly looking forward to it. Imagine the possibilities of combining such a lucrative fast food chain with our beloved Pavilion. Upon entering the parking lot—after being directed to Nampa and back by orangutans with orange directional lights—you’d pull up to the drive through intercom and order your concessions, get a number (for instance: 783), park your car, then wait by the side of the ticket office while they call out “…number 137…”. Instead of having a young boy push the courtside brooms during timeouts at basketball games, there will be an unshaven high school junior who’s trying to make the payments on his Dodge Daytona.

I played the drums during the basketball games for years, and am deeply disappointed that I’ll miss the opportunity to replace the cymbals with tortillas. Even the names “Balcony” and “Mezzanine” will be changed to “Burrito” and “Burrito that somebody forgot to roll up”.

What excites me the most, though, is the wall of taco smell that will greet visitors as they enter. After all, if Disneyland can make the Pirates of the Caribbean ride smell like a bunch of sweaty buccaneers, surely somebody can make the Taco Bell Arena smell like stale bagels and filthy pigeon coupes.

In the meantime, all of this typing has made me hungry. If anybody needs me I’ll be down at Taco Bell trying to roll up a taco pizza.