I have started going back to the gym and I'm maybe starting to make a little bit of headway in the health category. The day before my birthday I took a Health Assessment at my work, and they told me a few things that I didn't know. To wit:
1) I am technically obese. I thought I was just overweight, but apparently not. Now let's face it: I am sexy as hell. I mean, holy shit, as far as big fat guys go, I'm right up there. I don't think I'm saying anything you don't already know. I'm a triple threat: brains, looks and cholesterol. Oh yeah, that brings me to #2...
2) My cholesterol is high. I should have known this since I once ate a mayonnaise sandwich, but somehow it blindsided me. Oh well.
3) My blood pressure is high. I have always been a big guy, but the one thing I could always hang my hat on was that I didn't have high blood pressure. Well, my hat just dropped to the floor. Wonderful.
So in light of that, I decided to start going back to the gymnasium. I follow a pretty simple routine. I run for 10 minutes, then do the elliptical for 15 minutes, then run for another 15 minutes. If it's not getting too late, I'll do the stairmaster or cycle or something else for 10-15 minutes. I might do some lifting if I feel like it, although I'm going to concentrate on that more once I get back into my wheelhouse of the 220's.
The one thing I have discovered and really enjoyed is the sauna. Now, at the YMCA where I go, the sauna is generally empty, so I like to spend about 10 minutes in there to get the blood flowing, the heart pumping, and the sweat dripping. It's very healthy.
However, the problem I have had with the gym continues as it has since day one: men are far too comfortable with their bodies. On any given day, I will see a 70-year old man walking around with no towel, no boxers, no coverage. He will drape a white towel around his neck -- his NECK -- and walk around with his twig and berries flapping about, his grey thatch of shrubbery mercifully obscuring the jewels that his father passed down to him.
I am a total prude. Any time I go into the gym, my wedding tackle is completely covered. I wear boxers going all the way to the shower, and then put a clean pair on upon my exodus from said shower. I think it's only right. There is absolutely no reason that any man -- even one with a good physique -- should waltz around with his balls hanging out. Call me old-fashioned.
In the last several weeks, there were two separate incidents I experienced that warrant some kind of interference by the the Center for Disease Control or some other similar government agency. Let me relay them to you...
a) There was a man who recently had gastric bypass surgery. Good for him; whatever you need to do to take care of your morbid obesity, all the better. But this man had recently come off the surgery, and as a result had scads of extra skin. (Yes it gets worse, skip ahead if you are squeamish.) He had what we call an "apron" of skin. That is, he had a belly full of loose skin that hung below his genitals. In other words, his stomach actually eclipsed his junk. I cannot tell you how odd this particular affliction looks to begin with, but I can tell you one thing: if that was me who had my own belly skin hanging down to my mid-thigh, I would sure as shit wear a pair of boxers or some such loin-cloth to block the flesh that swung low like that sweet chariot. Seriously: a towel, a pair of shorts, some sort of pixelation. Don't walk around as if you are proud of it. Thank you.
b) I walked into the sauna the other day. The way the sauna works, there is a large wooden door. You open the door, and there are two benches in the room, one to the left, one to the right. Usually the sauna is empty and I can walk in and take a seat, waiting for the immense heat to get my heart pumping. The other day, however, I walked in on something rather unusual and rather unsettling. I opened the door, and what did I see but a naked man doing some sort of exercise. The exercise he was doing consisted of the following: he was completely naked, and he decided to roll himself into a ball, in where he tucked his knees into his chest, grabbed them, and rocked back and forth. The timing of this motion was such that when I opened the door, I was looking straight down the barrel of his asshole.
I panicked, of course, and went to the opposite -- mercifully empty -- bench, and laid down on my back and tried to find my "happy place." I laid back and closed my eyes and began to meditate about all things heterosexual: the NFL Draft, Limp Bizkit, Maxim magazine, Steven Segal movies. But rather than let me escape into my safe world, the man whose prostate I had involuntarily examined decided that he needed to make groaning noises, as if he was making a bowel movement. I had considered asking him to shut the fuck up, but I was afraid that he would try to tea-bag me or something.
Here's my question: in the showers at the Y, I see men wearing shower shoes, ostensibly to protect themselves from germs. However, these are the same men who are stamping their anuses onto open, wooden benches left and right. They are not covering themselves up, they are not putting towels down. Just because you CAN walk around naked, doesn't mean you should. I hardly have a great physique, but I am about dead average at the Y. If I decided that I should start to walk around with my johnson dangling about, I would hope that someone would pull me to the side and tell me to cover up. No one has such gusto in this establishment.
Okay, that's all. I'm hoping that I don't die of dysentery anytime soon. Bye.