The Non-Expert
Gym Nasty
Experts answer what they know. The Non-Expert answers anything. This week ROSECRANS BALDWIN explains how you can leave the weight room behind—it’s time to take your workout to the streets.
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Question: I’m working on going to the gym this month, finally. Have you guys gotten mail about this? Workouts, tips, and HOW TO LOSE THE POUNDAGE? When I speak of going to the gym, the image of me failing and flailing comes up. Keep the peace—Arthur
Answer: Arthur, the gym isn’t for everyone. A trip in January will tell you that—when the New Year’s resolution types like yourself hog the elliptical machines, huffing and puffing and yet the house in your gut remains standing. It sickens my well-conditioned heart. Already we buff ones are waiting in line at quarter after six, and now you, you puny flabby weakling, you want to mount our hydraulic pistons? I bet you don’t even know how to configure a heart monitor.
Arthur, starting with the second sentence, that paragraph was addressed to me, not you. Do you ever feel like Louis from Ghostbusters, wearing a gray sweat suit, knowing it would look better on someone else? Me too. No one is comfortable in a gym—or, if they are, it means they’re also really good in bed.
Take last week at my gym: Everything was going fine, people were minding their business and doing reps without glancing at one another, and then a big muscle type dropped to the floor and started doing push-ups. In the center of all the machines, shouting to himself. And not your grandmother’s push-ups: He clapped the entire time—he clapped while he did his push-ups, launching himself up off the ground and managing to clap his hands together before he landed again, and then he clapped between his sets, when he’d stand up and applaud himself—and he also made sounds like a vomiting bear: hwaunghghg…hwaunghghg…hwaunghghg.
After a three-act show, he stood up, dusted off his palms, and sauntered off to the water fountain. So OK, maybe he’s comfortable in a gym. But after that, no one else was. We looked at each other and were all embarrassed, tugging on our ankle socks, trying not to wonder if Mr. Push-Up liked to clap during intercourse. I think that guy was singly responsible for a 15 percent drop in membership. But he’s actually the reason I go to the gym regularly: because it’s insane.
But maybe that’s not your thing? Maybe a gym’s just not right. Have you considered other locations?
Pre-date: Shop ‘til you drop for the perfect outfit, but swap taking subways and cabs for running between stores. You can also call your ex-girlfriends when you’re drunk to find out what you did wrong in previous relationships: better than that OK Go song for psyching yourself up.
During the date: Clench your buttocks together a dozen times every time she says, “What are you staring at?” Or, excuse yourself to the restroom and do jumping jacks in the stall. Have you used one of those Russian weight balls yet? Wrapping your hand in three rolls of toilet paper, dunking it in the toilet, and then swinging your arm around in circles will burn as many calories and develop muscle tone. You can also try bench-pressing your date, though that may not be appropriate on a two-top.
After the date: Bench-press your date. Or, pull a Donald Sutherland from Fellini’s Casanova and do push-ups on top of her (but no clapping). If you’re not invited in “for coffee,” you can max out your ‘ceps, glutes, and tri’s by throwing her garbage cans at parked cars. To vary up the reps, empty a can or two first—you’ll feel a lighter burn and not so miserable, though probably no less perpetually tragic.
Question: I’m working on going to the gym this month, finally. Have you guys gotten mail about this? Workouts, tips, and HOW TO LOSE THE POUNDAGE? When I speak of going to the gym, the image of me failing and flailing comes up. Keep the peace—Arthur
Answer: Arthur, the gym isn’t for everyone. A trip in January will tell you that—when the New Year’s resolution types like yourself hog the elliptical machines, huffing and puffing and yet the house in your gut remains standing. It sickens my well-conditioned heart. Already we buff ones are waiting in line at quarter after six, and now you, you puny flabby weakling, you want to mount our hydraulic pistons? I bet you don’t even know how to configure a heart monitor.
Arthur, starting with the second sentence, that paragraph was addressed to me, not you. Do you ever feel like Louis from Ghostbusters, wearing a gray sweat suit, knowing it would look better on someone else? Me too. No one is comfortable in a gym—or, if they are, it means they’re also really good in bed.
Take last week at my gym: Everything was going fine, people were minding their business and doing reps without glancing at one another, and then a big muscle type dropped to the floor and started doing push-ups. In the center of all the machines, shouting to himself. And not your grandmother’s push-ups: He clapped the entire time—he clapped while he did his push-ups, launching himself up off the ground and managing to clap his hands together before he landed again, and then he clapped between his sets, when he’d stand up and applaud himself—and he also made sounds like a vomiting bear: hwaunghghg…hwaunghghg…hwaunghghg.
After a three-act show, he stood up, dusted off his palms, and sauntered off to the water fountain. So OK, maybe he’s comfortable in a gym. But after that, no one else was. We looked at each other and were all embarrassed, tugging on our ankle socks, trying not to wonder if Mr. Push-Up liked to clap during intercourse. I think that guy was singly responsible for a 15 percent drop in membership. But he’s actually the reason I go to the gym regularly: because it’s insane.
But maybe that’s not your thing? Maybe a gym’s just not right. Have you considered other locations?
At Work
The workplace isn’t immune to exercise facilities. Laptops can be for hurling. And take the kitchenette: Have you ever lifted up the mini-fridge and put it back down 10 times in a row? Try it full, then go in, dump out all the moldy sandwiches, and do another set. You’ll not only get a great workout, you’ll have the office manager thanking you afterwards for completing one of the many tasks that make her job a dead-end one, miserable and perpetually tragic.On a Date
If dating is all about getting laid, then working out—which is all about hoping someone, someday, will want to screw you without the TV on—should be pursued before, during, and after any chance you get to buy someone dinner.Pre-date: Shop ‘til you drop for the perfect outfit, but swap taking subways and cabs for running between stores. You can also call your ex-girlfriends when you’re drunk to find out what you did wrong in previous relationships: better than that OK Go song for psyching yourself up.
During the date: Clench your buttocks together a dozen times every time she says, “What are you staring at?” Or, excuse yourself to the restroom and do jumping jacks in the stall. Have you used one of those Russian weight balls yet? Wrapping your hand in three rolls of toilet paper, dunking it in the toilet, and then swinging your arm around in circles will burn as many calories and develop muscle tone. You can also try bench-pressing your date, though that may not be appropriate on a two-top.
After the date: Bench-press your date. Or, pull a Donald Sutherland from Fellini’s Casanova and do push-ups on top of her (but no clapping). If you’re not invited in “for coffee,” you can max out your ‘ceps, glutes, and tri’s by throwing her garbage cans at parked cars. To vary up the reps, empty a can or two first—you’ll feel a lighter burn and not so miserable, though probably no less perpetually tragic.
At McDonald’s
Pick a fight with someone much bigger and meaner than you. This routine can be done almost anywhere, but McDonald’s branches have public restrooms for vomiting.At Home
Your apartment is stuffed with workout gear—you just never knew where to look. For example, hanging your bike from the ceiling so its wheels float a couple inches off the ground is an instant stationary bike. Weights can be replaced with cooking pots filled to the brim with glue. And don’t forget the home office: the internet is full of pornography—which demands great exercise of willpower to avoid.On the Subway
Train surfing has gone in and out of popularity, but as a cardiovascular sport, it’s not very demanding. Try the new Wesley Autrey Workout (requires a partner): One of you dives onto the train tracks and the other dives on top of him. When a train approaches, your friend should pretend to have a seizure (400 calories) while you punch him in the ribs (350 calories). Note: You’ll probably want to bring your iPods along as there’s bound to be screaming from people who aren’t exercising.—Published January 12, 2007
