So, today I’m thinking about Tobias Buckell. This is because he’s the bastard who’s responsible for this crap. (Note, I know I can use this kind of profanity regarding Tobias because he’s all about the authentic, ya know?)
You see, I was going to the health club yesterday and I was kind of dragging tail. I had other things I wanted to do, and was grumbling about hitting the gym. Then I got there and started to get a bit of a sweat going, and I was thinking about the fact that it felt pretty okay, and it got me thinking about Toby and his health situation. If you follow him, you know he’s a youngish guy who has had heart issues, and now is restricted on how much physical exercise he should expose himself to. He recently tweeted a string of notes about how bummed that makes him, as he can no longer throw around weights as he used to in order to relieve stress and whatnot.
And so I started thinking about poor Tobias, and how he would kill to be able to be doing what I was doing. With every lift I felt better and better, and I started thinking things like “Tobias, this set’s for you!” and I did just great. The sweat came and my body filled with endorphins and the blood pumped and I felt like freaking Hercules. Half way through the day I decided to go for it, and even upped my weights to the next level. I was about ready for it, anyway. You know, five-ten pounds more on every segment–nothing much…just a touch–or adding a few reps onto each exercise. And it was glorious grunting and groaning with each exercise. All very manly.
And I left the gym feeling pretty great, and thinking great thoughts about young Tobias and even lifting an imaginary PowerAde toward Ohio I his honor.
Of course, this morning my shoulders feel like they’ve been on the rack and my biceps are whining and my hamstrings are tied up in about a gazillion knots.
And it’s all young Tobias’s fault.