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...