I hear people all the time saying “I’m going to go for a walk.” And I think, “a walk where?” But the reality is that a lot of those people walk just for the sake of walking.
I don’t understand that.
Whenever I walk , I do so with the purpose of getting somewhere. Either it’s to the store, to the mailbox, or to class. Walking isn’t something I like to do, but it’s something I must do. To me, there has to be a definite reason for doing it. I don’t just walk out my door, close my eyes, take a deep breath and say “Ahhhh, where’s the wind going to take me today?” Who does that? Even dogs walk for a reason. They wanna poop, pee, chase squirrels, and smell other dog’s poop and pee. I once knew a dog that barked whenever the wind blew hard enough. Stupid, stupid animals, yet smart enough to know why they’re walking.
When are humans going to reach that intellectual plateau? Have you ever seen a person happy to be walking? It’s quite funny. There they are - not in running clothes- smiling at nothing with their hands in their pockets. And most of the time, it seems those people are walking across the street I need to turn on when I’m driving. That’s the most annoying thing about Walkers, they think cars cannot hit them. I think of all of them with stuffy voices saying, “La-dee-dee, La-dee-dah. I have the right-of-way Mr. Vehicle. You must wait until I have ascended onto the sidewalk. Thank You Very Much.” Meanwhile you become an ostrich, twisting and stretching your neck to see if the light above you is still green.
“Now you may proceed, Mr. Vehicle. Thank You Very Much.”
And I know that’s how they think because I used to be a Walker. I hated cars who tried to make me walk faster when I was crossing the street. Uh-uh. Wouldn’t do it because I didn’t have to worry about something like points being put on my Walker’s License. But car drivers have to worry. “Man, I wanna run over this old lady with the groceries. She’s really taking her sweet time crossing.” Then I think about it. “But, alas, I can’t. One day I will see you again old woman. One day. And on that day I need not worry about points, because I will be riding a bicycle..."
I feel the same way about running. I tried running on a treadmill at the gym the other day and I couldn’t do it. I had never done it before in my life, and it was the most awkward thing for me (asides from the time I sat in the same car for 25 minutes with my girlfriend‘s mute cousin who doesn’t blink). But I was afraid of falling off the treadmill like I’ve seen millions of times on Funniest Home Videos, so I didn’t want to let go of the handle bars. I looked like a baby in a walker…but one with long, hairy legs.
So my feeling of inadequacy prevailed and I decided to get off the treadmill. But how? Should I jump off? Should I stop walking and roll off the back of it? I looked around to make sure no one was watching, and no one was. Everybody on treadmills was either listening to their Ipod, or guzzling down some fitness water. What is fitness water, by the way? How can water be fit? Anyway, I figured there has to be a logical way to get off this machine going 10 mph. Ok. The answer lies in one of these buttons.
Have you ever looked at the panel of an advanced treadmill? It’s like the cockpit of an airplane. Freakin’ barometers, altimeters, and heart gauges all over the place. Buttons are lighting up here and there. All it needs is a glass windshield and Top Gun‘s “Danger Zone” playing from its speakers. C’mon you know that song.
Hiiiighway to the DANGER ZONE
Gonna take you Right in to the DANGER ZONE.
I admit that song would’ve gotten me pumped to jump right off that thing, but all I wanted was a helmet that said “GOOSE.”
But I didn’t need a helmet because I finally figured it out by crouching and reading the fine print instructions on the panel. That may sound easy but try doing it while running 10 mph. And it didn’t help that I’m cursed with extremely long legs and a stubby torso. I stand in front of the mirror naked sometimes and think I look like a giraffe without the long neck.
So after I manage to get off, I head over to the weights. “Now this is what I’m talking about. A real workout.” Then I grunted like Tim The Toolman Taylor.
After lifting weights for 40 minutes, I was spent. I hadn’t done any lifting in a long time and my arms were starting to burn so I decided to stop. Guzzling down a gallon of water during my workout didn’t help my stomach. “Maaan, I got bubble guts in a public place. This sucks.” If I’m in public and I have to use the bathroom, I hold it as long as I can because public restrooms are atrocious. Dirty toilet tissue wads are all over the floor and I don’t even want to mention the smell. But the worst thing is how a public bathroom develops its own evolutionary life cycle. There were pubic hairs walking around in the last bathroom I went into. I could’ve sworn one knocked on my stall and asked for some tissue.
But the gym’s bathroom wasn’t that bad. I covered the toilet seat with an entire roll of Charmin’s and tried to imagine I was at home. It didn’t work, but I finished and I reached over to get tissue. As I moved my arm I realized that I had overworked it, and now they didn’t work. “This isn’t happening.” Digging deep inside myself I mustered the little strength in me to reach back and wipe my butt. Or at least tried to. My right arm was so weak that it was shaking uncontrollably. I wish I had the guy from The Waterboy standing outside my stall screaming, “You Can Do EhhT.” But I couldn’t. The tissue was too heavy. Still can’t picture it? Well imagine Mohammad Ali trying to wipe his butt and that’s how I looked. Sorry for the graphic imagery.
I never thought I would go so low and write toilet humor, but I had to tell this story. I don’t even want to get into how I tried with my left hand (which I must‘ve never done before). I looked crippled. Don’t believe me? Next time try using your non-wiping hand, and you’ll see.
Now that’s a Danger Zone.
I don’t understand that.
Whenever I walk , I do so with the purpose of getting somewhere. Either it’s to the store, to the mailbox, or to class. Walking isn’t something I like to do, but it’s something I must do. To me, there has to be a definite reason for doing it. I don’t just walk out my door, close my eyes, take a deep breath and say “Ahhhh, where’s the wind going to take me today?” Who does that? Even dogs walk for a reason. They wanna poop, pee, chase squirrels, and smell other dog’s poop and pee. I once knew a dog that barked whenever the wind blew hard enough. Stupid, stupid animals, yet smart enough to know why they’re walking.
When are humans going to reach that intellectual plateau? Have you ever seen a person happy to be walking? It’s quite funny. There they are - not in running clothes- smiling at nothing with their hands in their pockets. And most of the time, it seems those people are walking across the street I need to turn on when I’m driving. That’s the most annoying thing about Walkers, they think cars cannot hit them. I think of all of them with stuffy voices saying, “La-dee-dee, La-dee-dah. I have the right-of-way Mr. Vehicle. You must wait until I have ascended onto the sidewalk. Thank You Very Much.” Meanwhile you become an ostrich, twisting and stretching your neck to see if the light above you is still green.
“Now you may proceed, Mr. Vehicle. Thank You Very Much.”
And I know that’s how they think because I used to be a Walker. I hated cars who tried to make me walk faster when I was crossing the street. Uh-uh. Wouldn’t do it because I didn’t have to worry about something like points being put on my Walker’s License. But car drivers have to worry. “Man, I wanna run over this old lady with the groceries. She’s really taking her sweet time crossing.” Then I think about it. “But, alas, I can’t. One day I will see you again old woman. One day. And on that day I need not worry about points, because I will be riding a bicycle..."
I feel the same way about running. I tried running on a treadmill at the gym the other day and I couldn’t do it. I had never done it before in my life, and it was the most awkward thing for me (asides from the time I sat in the same car for 25 minutes with my girlfriend‘s mute cousin who doesn’t blink). But I was afraid of falling off the treadmill like I’ve seen millions of times on Funniest Home Videos, so I didn’t want to let go of the handle bars. I looked like a baby in a walker…but one with long, hairy legs.
So my feeling of inadequacy prevailed and I decided to get off the treadmill. But how? Should I jump off? Should I stop walking and roll off the back of it? I looked around to make sure no one was watching, and no one was. Everybody on treadmills was either listening to their Ipod, or guzzling down some fitness water. What is fitness water, by the way? How can water be fit? Anyway, I figured there has to be a logical way to get off this machine going 10 mph. Ok. The answer lies in one of these buttons.
Have you ever looked at the panel of an advanced treadmill? It’s like the cockpit of an airplane. Freakin’ barometers, altimeters, and heart gauges all over the place. Buttons are lighting up here and there. All it needs is a glass windshield and Top Gun‘s “Danger Zone” playing from its speakers. C’mon you know that song.
Hiiiighway to the DANGER ZONE
Gonna take you Right in to the DANGER ZONE.
I admit that song would’ve gotten me pumped to jump right off that thing, but all I wanted was a helmet that said “GOOSE.”
But I didn’t need a helmet because I finally figured it out by crouching and reading the fine print instructions on the panel. That may sound easy but try doing it while running 10 mph. And it didn’t help that I’m cursed with extremely long legs and a stubby torso. I stand in front of the mirror naked sometimes and think I look like a giraffe without the long neck.
So after I manage to get off, I head over to the weights. “Now this is what I’m talking about. A real workout.” Then I grunted like Tim The Toolman Taylor.
After lifting weights for 40 minutes, I was spent. I hadn’t done any lifting in a long time and my arms were starting to burn so I decided to stop. Guzzling down a gallon of water during my workout didn’t help my stomach. “Maaan, I got bubble guts in a public place. This sucks.” If I’m in public and I have to use the bathroom, I hold it as long as I can because public restrooms are atrocious. Dirty toilet tissue wads are all over the floor and I don’t even want to mention the smell. But the worst thing is how a public bathroom develops its own evolutionary life cycle. There were pubic hairs walking around in the last bathroom I went into. I could’ve sworn one knocked on my stall and asked for some tissue.
But the gym’s bathroom wasn’t that bad. I covered the toilet seat with an entire roll of Charmin’s and tried to imagine I was at home. It didn’t work, but I finished and I reached over to get tissue. As I moved my arm I realized that I had overworked it, and now they didn’t work. “This isn’t happening.” Digging deep inside myself I mustered the little strength in me to reach back and wipe my butt. Or at least tried to. My right arm was so weak that it was shaking uncontrollably. I wish I had the guy from The Waterboy standing outside my stall screaming, “You Can Do EhhT.” But I couldn’t. The tissue was too heavy. Still can’t picture it? Well imagine Mohammad Ali trying to wipe his butt and that’s how I looked. Sorry for the graphic imagery.
I never thought I would go so low and write toilet humor, but I had to tell this story. I don’t even want to get into how I tried with my left hand (which I must‘ve never done before). I looked crippled. Don’t believe me? Next time try using your non-wiping hand, and you’ll see.
Now that’s a Danger Zone.
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