Getting Back On The Horse...In A Non-Sexual Way

      Naturally, deep in my heart, I'm a procrastinator. I've probably said that at least ten times...or hundred times, it doesn't matter. I am. Though, this time, it's not entirely my fault or at least I will try and convince you it's not.

I've been working out!

Certainly not my results and certainly not me...

though our breasts are comparable.

      Compelled into giving an actual, healthy disposition on life a chance, I've taken to working out everyday. Anyone who has read this infernal babbling might remember me giving the "Insanity" workout a go. Inevitably, I failed. Ever so quickly, I dismissed my hasty exit from fitland and abrupt retreat into fatdom as a symptom of my defeatist mentality, instilled in me by 90's grunge music and it's angst filled poppy rhythms. 

I was of course lying to myself. "Fat is what fat does.", according to Forrest Gump, if he were a morbidly obese version of himself...eating a turkey drumstick. 

Like this...only Forrest Gump and less classy.

      Fast forward a couple of unproductive months and "Insanity" again, rears it's perfectly sculpted abs. I folded, in the direction of exercising, not fat laziness. So, now, I am one month into it. Which I believe is further than I've ever gotten with exercising regularly...ever. It's proof positive that miracles happen everyday and more often than not, soak towels with sweat and make you swear at the t.v.

I've Been Working!

Who would have thought,

 that the place where dreams go to die,

 would be so well lit?

      As of late, I am employed. I am extremely sad about it. Unfortunately, as jet setting and glamorous as unemployment is, it doesn't pay very well. So, in the spirit of decency, responsibility and good ol' productive citizenship, I got a job. Hold your applause, it's a shitty job. Though, aren't they all? Well, with the exception of "professional money collector/spender" all of them pretty much fucking suck. 

      Though, this one doesn't pay well and has a tendency to suck happiness directly from my soul, with what I imagine is a silly straw, it is also a huge consumer of my time. Albeit, the attention I've given to coming up with a schedule to manage my time properly has been taken up by Netflix and an Xbox, the job doesn't help.

New Ideas!

It's weird that this idea isn't producing any actual light. Strange.

      Much like a car smoking it's tires, my wheels are a'spinnin' and I'm going nowhere with them. I have had tons of ideas lately. I thought up a more entertaining podcast, to go with the OTHER podcast...both of which I'm not doing yet. Plus, I thought I'd try making a graphic novel out of my "Makeshift Theatre Brigade" characters and see how that works out. Still haven't done that yet. Oh, and a novel...about heaven...that I never seem to write. Things are humming in my head, but, instead of producing, it's just a noise. 

      Normally, I would carve out a nice little bit of self loathing, curl up inside of it in a fetal position and wallow like a duck with it's head trapped in a plastic bag...drowning. Fuck that, however. I'm going to give it a shot. All of it. 

How do I know?

Because I'm getting back into this mother mc'fuckin' blog again...and if I can do that, I can do all of that other shit. 

Oh, and I'm going to do more Hubpages. Forgot about those.

Dammit.

My Road Through "Insanity": Day One.

      Fitness has never been my forte. In fact. I avoid it at every opportunity. Immobility is what separates us from the animals. I'm a firm believer in that. Yet, being a stationary human doesn't contribute to the health of said human. So, I've taken it upon myself to get healthier. Not by changing my diet or going for walks and working my way up to a consistent exercise routine. Fuck no! Who has time for that? Quick and dirty, that's the American way, so, that's my way too.

      That's why I've decided to take on the "Insanity Workout"! 60 days of horrific pain swollen joints, sore muscles and lots of non-sex related sweating. Oh, and stinking like b.o. mixed with shit. They don't tell you that on t.v.. Everyone of those people smell like a rarely cleaned bathroom in an Italian bistro,...one that's been freshly sprayed with diarrhea.

Kinda like this...but, with active wear.

      Today was the first day of the rest of my pained but, exercised existence. I want you to know...that it fucking sucked the ass of a thousand asses. What the fuck happened to me? Allow me to recap:

The "Hop Until Your Kidneys Rupture" exercise. 

The Warm Up.

      It starts out like any other t.v. workout bullshit. Ripped people doing a routine that is light weight for them, but, painfully hard for actual people. They act like it isn't shit, while some guy says reassuring words. Fuck all of those people.

      I didn't expect much more than that going in. I still don't. The Shaun T. guy says some things like "remember to breath", "drink water" and such. He also says, things like "fun" and "you're going to get the body that you want". All is good. This is the warm up! Jogging.

      I've jogged before. Not far mind you...and only when chased usually, but, still. It's familiar territory that I'm happy to tread through. Though, my comfort is quickly abandoned, like a turd in a pool,  when Shaun T. changes shit. He moves on to...jumping jacks? What the fuck?. What the fuck Shaun T.?! I'm all about jogging! I'm in that head space. Okay...I'll move on...reluctantly. Okay, jumping jacks. I've done this shit before too. Not a big deal. 

Hey, what the fuck? He wants to do something called "Heismans". I was just getting into the jumping jacks

Heisman!

      Right, Shaun T. "keep breathing" I got it. So, Heisma...wait. What? Add a step into it? Why? I just started to doing the fucking thing. Yeah, I got it, Shaun, I'll get water when I'm good and goddam...Why is my heart hurting? Breathing is labored. Is this because of the exercise or building aggravation? 

"Feel good?", he says. No. No I don't. Your words are starting to sound condescending, Shaun T. Like a dick bag actually. A huge dick AND a bag...full of dicks. 

Now, it's a jog called "butt kicks"? How appropriate. I'm feeling like freshly kicked ass already.

Now, "mummy kicks"! Can't we just stick to one fucking thi...oh, NOW we're stretching. What the hell. 

The Test. 

As long as it's taken you to 

see and evaluate the picture above. 

You should have done all 

of those exercises by now.

      My initial reaction to the workout is fair and just. Shaun T. is an asshole. The workout is what would happen if you put a kid with ADHD in charge of a geriatric retard class. Only, the kid has no soul and the class is fed a diet of sugar and happiness everyday. 

      Now, they say anyone can do this workout. I believe them too. They never said everyone would live to see the end of it, but, technically, you can attempt any one of these exercises and expect to survive unscathed...once. Today, I started with the fitness test portion of the program. It's a litmus test to help you determine how far you are advancing. I managed to get through the first exercise with little more than shortness of breath, a heart beat like a road tested crack whore and a healthier fear of death due to heart attack. Is this how everyone starts out?