On the Subject of the Fitness of One's Physique

Some sort of spring fever seems to have hit the world at large, and instead of cleaning, my nearest and dearest are flocking to gyms, yoga studios, and the great outdoors for the purpose of greasing their knee joints, increasing the relative strength of their heartbeats, and presumably, nurturing that more abstract but socially hygienic goal of "physical fitness." So I, like the lemur [LEMMING] I am, got in line to jump off the cliff. I joined the gym.

Not only "the" gym, or "a" gym, but the Campus Gym. The San Diego State University gym, or the "Aztec Recreational Center" as they euphemistically term it-- a friendlier term than "The Gym Where 30 Thousand Hardbodied Undergraduates go to Lift Hundred Pound Weights on their Buttocks while Engaging in the World's Most Perfect Downward Dog." It's enormous, it's open 24 hours, it's color scheme is primarily grey. It's serious bidness.

For those of you who haven't known me since high school when my "physical fitness" consisted of hoisting a bottle of 20/20 to my lips (followed, perhaps, by ab-strengthening Toilet Bowl Worship), I have engaged in some basic physical fitness in the last ten years. I have yoga'd, I ran for several months, I mastered the Lusty Leapfrog (remember: there is no such thing as an overshare). 

And now, after a year-long hiatus, I'm attempting to reengage in the world's most obnoxiously beautiful city. And I mean beautiful people-wise. I should qualify, as this is a particularly blonde, tan, toned sort of beauty, not one to which I necessarily prescribe, although I enjoy T&A as much as the next fellow. This is Intimidating. I have Fitness Shame.

I think this is partly because, other than my pastiness and Lack of Tone, I seem to be in reasonable shape, because I am thin. This is a lie. Although I can touch my toes to my nose (a strange sort of claim to fame), I no longer have any sort of cardiovascular stamina. Even at my running peak, after six months of going 4 days a week, I could only go a mile and a half. In half an hour. People walk faster than I run. And I am PROUD of that accomplishment, my friends. 

I expect to die, but I really hope it won't be because of a treadmill Incident. I'll keep you posted.