Así soy

Monday, October 11, 2010

Magic Man : pulling the effort out of the hat

So Paul dumps me for a couple of weeks (supposedly he is celebrating birthdays, anniversaries and stuff) and has left me in the care of Mr. J.

So Mr. J  sizes me up the first day and says: Ok let's warm up with some rowing!
Me: Ok!
So I row my 500 meters, keeping my time under my personal Slacker-Zone number (which I totally do not share with Paul.)  I had some stress to work out so I felt pretty good about it.

Mr. J gives a gentle cough: um, no, let's do, say, a thousand meters.
Me: Um, ok!
and I row another 500 meters which admittedly is a little harder than the first 500, especially since now I feel I have to maintain the same rate or better.

What makes the rowing interesting is that Mr. J is a story-teller.  This is pretty cool except he makes me laugh which may be some sort of secret personal trainer move to keep my abs engaged but does mess with my ability to stay organized.

Mr. J: Ok, let's go drag stuff.
Me:    Ok!

He doesn't put the same big wheels on the sled thingy that Paul does, so I think, well, after I pull it, I'll let him know that I might could do more.

Mr. J: Pull it to the end of the road and back.
Me:    Ok!

So we walk, I'm dragging, he's talking.  He interjects quiet suggestions into his stories, like, "stand up a little straighter" or "lift your knees up a little as you walk."  I'm talking too, but I notice that it takes a little more effort.  In fact, I'm starting to feel it all over. We get back to the main door, and I hand him the straps.
Mr. J: Oh, wait, let's do that again.  This time, pull backwards.
Me:
Me:
So I do the arm pull thingys which is a tedious process and fails to generate any interesting imagery.  Fortunately, Mr. J ambles along next to me asking questions and telling stories and occasionally sliding in casual comments on my form.  The small short pulls keep us at a turtle pace.  But he explains that these little midget movements work my [insert trainer technical terms.] 
By the time we head back, my shoulders are like live coals , Mr. J knows a lot of personal info about me, and I am getting familiar with his sense of humor.

I drop the straps, put on a fine PF and trail after Mr. J to the mats.

Mr. J: You can do some crunches to finish up
Me:     Ok! How many?
Mr. J: I don't know, maybe until the end of the next story.
Me:     Ok!
Me (several minutes into his hilarious story): Ha ha! um, how many more? (this is a rough translation from the gasping sounds I squeaked out.)
Mr. J:  I don't count much. How about until the end of the next story?
Me:     Ok! (in voice like a chipmunk's)
Mr. J:  Hmm, let me think. What story should I tell? Huh....
Me:
Me:
Me:

He does finally tell a story. I stand up, and I'm shaped like a question mark, feeling as though I have stapled my intestines to my spinal cord and will no longer be able to digest food normally.



Mr. J has fooled me with his sleight-of-hand approach.

No comments:

Post a Comment