Candy Rant

"I killed a rat with a stick once."

Saturday, December 09, 2006

The Slow Climb Back to Fitness

OK. Right away, that title is misleading. Because in order to get back to fitness, one would have had to have been fit in the first place, wouldn't one? And in Candy's case, that is not the truth. Oh, I've been in much better shape than I am now. But saying I'm going back to fitness would be less accurate than saying I'm about to climb back atop the throne of Queen of the Universe and All Infinity.

Let me run this down for you. I went crawling back to Gold's Gym today. Back among the meatnecks and the sorority hag-lets in their micro shorts who are heading closer and closer to that subtle Britney gynecological look. I was not exactly enthused. It was as though the guilt of my latest indiscretions radiated from me. The evidence of finishing off that box of ice cream last night was a shameful mocha halo around my head. The barbecue chicken indulgence from the night before appeared as several small headless chicken-ghosts floating next to my ankles as I walked into the locker room. It was difficult for them to speak, but as they held miniature ghostly torches in their insistent wings, I could hear the chant: murderessssssss.

If all that weren't enough to send me back to my car, the treadmill was. I knew it had been a long time since I'd darkened the Gold's doorstep, but after 10 minutes on the treadmill, the unforgiving, merciless, rabid she-wolf treadmill, everything I had hurt. Even my fancy 19-dollar Sony radio headphones hurt. I surrendered. I went to a mat and did some stretches. My muscles cackled at me like dark witches of the underworld. My fickle ponytail slithered out of the elastic to escape me and my foolishness. I hobbled back to the locker room, grabbed my unopened bottle of water and took off. On the way out, I asked the guy behind the counter to look up my account and tell me when my last visit to Gold's had been.

His face said it all. Then his mouth: "October 1st."

I'm trying to decide which of 2 paths to take:

1. Go buy some new cross trainers to invigorate the effort to become a better person.

2. Take to my bed and hire small woodland creatures to feed me all things Cadbury until I kack.

Flipping the coin now...


  • At 10:15 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAA!!! I'm fit to be tied...

  • At 2:04 AM, Blogger Candy Rant said…

    Candy would respond to your comment, but she's taken to her bed.
    This is a recording.

  • At 6:07 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    Let's think of all the famous people in history who didn't work- out, were a bit overweight, and yet lived rich, successful lives. 1. President William Howad Taft. 2. The late (?)comedian Louie Anderson. 3. Boss Tweed. 4. Katherine the Great of Russia. And I'm sure that there are many more.

    So that's why I don't go to the expensive gym that I belong to. Because you see what happens to people like Kate Moss who are way too thin and unhappy and use dope.

    I think there's something really spiritual about Baskin Robbins Cookie Dough ice cream and I think if someone like Mahmoud Ahmadinejad would just dig in he wouldn't be so damn quick to talk about wiping whole nations off the face of the map.
    Tony from the Bonx

  • At 6:30 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    Uh, John Candy, Tony?

  • At 8:48 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    You could try my technique, Candy. When ever I get the urge to excersise, I run quickly to sofa... sit down... and rest my eyes until the feeling passes.

    Very effective.

  • At 9:12 PM, Blogger prairie biker said…

    You forgot the rest of the sentence:

    "October First ... 1994."

  • At 9:17 PM, Blogger Candy Rant said…

    You're a cruel one, Prairie Biker. Cruel. But accurate.

    Tony, you have, methinks, found the source of all the world's problems: A lack of seriously good junk food. I say we get together and save the planet. "We are the la la..."

    I tried your method! It works!!!!


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