A Tender Moment in the Locker Room

Oh, calm down. It's not that kind of gym.

I was the beneficiary of a handsome young man's kindness today.

After a difficult workout (tired, clumsy, distracted, shoe came untied, heart rate too high) I was sitting at my locker staring blankly into my water bottle. A fellow with a pony tail and what appeared to my un-bespectacled eyes to be a pair of Mickey Mouse lounge pants came in to get his towel.

"How ya doing?", he asked.

"I feel old," I grunted with as much of a smile as I could muster.

"Don't let it get to you -- it won't last long."

He could have blown me off, but he recognized a beginner having a rough night, and took the time to offer a kind word. That changed a lousy trip to the gym into a great one.

Peace,
Pennsy

What, no jams?

Ok, so what do I take to the gym?

I have been packing enough crap to spend the weekend. I can hardly get it into my locker. Small backpack with shoes, shorts, shirt, towel, water bottle, iPod, ahampoo, body wash, puffy scrubby thing, deodorant -- and of course, a nylon bag to throw all the wet stuff in when I'm done.

This is stupid.

I went looking for gym bags on line because my first impulse when faced with a problem is to either read about it or buy something. Screw it. Tonight I just rolled some stuff up in a towel and left the luggage in the car. Wait, forgot my shoes. Back. Wait, forgot my little key tag bar coded id thingy. Back. Wait, I forgot my iPod. I left it in the player at the office. No jams!

The jams are important. Without my personal soundtrack, walking was more like work than before, though I managed to keep the treadmill running for the entire two miles (dragging your feet apparently trips a safety feature.) The cardio monitor was not functioning so I didn't have that data to distract me. I concentrated on picking up my feet and driving the belt back with each stride. Mrs P joined me. She made about half a dozen new friends. I grunted at a couple of guys I'd never met before. She's sort of the friendly one in the Pennsy family.

I listened to my breath, tried to ignore ESPN micro-analyzing the NFL playoffs, watched some people work on the weight machines. I saw a woman spinning a jump rope like she was trying to generate electricity. Some of these people intimidate me, but mostly I admire the work they put in and the way their bodies reward them.

It was a good day at the gym. I did miss the jams, though.

Peace,
Pennsy
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1/16/08, cold winter night
2 miles
30 minutes

Sweating and Forgetting

In a half hour on the treadmill today, I put in two miles - I worry that I'm not pushing the way I should, but my strategy is to increase my distance at a comfortable pace, then try to work running into the routine. And I really don't want to get hurt or discouraged in the first week - the mirrors do plenty of both.

What I noticed, or rather didn't notice, was that I got to the end of my workout and could not recall having a single thought. I wasn't re-hashing work. I wasn't planning or evaluating or even contemplating. I was just putting one foot in front of the other.

I find this conscious unconsciousness extremely gratifying. It feels great to put my legs to work and my mind to rest. I actually resent the distraction of the TVs hanging from the ceiling. And when I'm moving, I forget how fat and stupid I look. I see people around me working, pumping the eliptical machines, running, pedaling, banging weights.

It feels good to forget for a little while. I'm glad I'm doing this.

Peace,
b

Tilting at treadmills

Taj Mahal, Blue Light Boogie, Honky Tonk Woman

I went to the gym at lunch today. It felt like the first "real" trip to the gym since it was during the work week and Mrs P was not with me and there were more people going about their gym-business.

I was really surprised at how good I felt after walking yesterday. I guess I expected exercise to improve my energy and outlook, so that's what happened. I hit the gym feeling really good about myself as I walked through the afternoon dusting of snow towards the glass door.

When I opened it, I noticed that the treadmill I used yesterday was jacked up on a milk crate and had a big "Out of Order" sign on it. For a minute I wondered if I had broken the thing because I'm so fat, but I put that out of my mind. That's the kind of negative thinking that makes a fat man eat. Bad plan.

I made my way to the locker room. Now I have been working in the theatre at one level or another since the third grade. I am accustomed to dressing in front of people. I even undressed on stage many pounds ago. When I entered the locker room, there were two men talking. We nodded and grunted at one another, and I shucked off my drawers. Not so bad. I managed to dig through my back pack to find the shorts and tee-shirt - got my iPod cued up - hung all my work clothes up in the locker, and grabbed my towel.

OK, glasses? No. Water bottle? I don't want to look like a dork, carrying a water bottle around, but then I don't want to look like a newbie passed out at the foot of my treadmill because I didn't have the sense to hydrate like I should. I pondered the bottle in my hand. It felt cool. I imagined myself chugging from it as I ground out the miles on my faithful treadmill. I pictured dropping it onto the belt, stopping to pick it up, and being flung backwards through the plate glass window and into the snow crusted mulch.

I left the bottle in my locker.

I made my way to the long row of treadmills, nodding and grunting my way past the other mid-day gym-rats. They were all dressed better than I and were much fitter than I and I thought to myself, "Well, if I didn't look so bad, I wouldn't be here now would I?" This thought made me feel better.

I walked past yesterdays wounded steed and chose a new machine. This one was in front of a TV broadcasting business "news". I fired up the treadmill like a veteran. Choosing an apropriate arm-up speed, I started my ipod rolling and I was off. Soon I was hiking along at my chosen speed, and I was pleased to see that my heart rate was much more comfortable today. I was swinging my arms, standing tall, and breathing deep as Taj Mahal crooned Honky Tonk Woman in my ears. Five minutes in, and feeling great.

Ten minutes in and I had broken a good sweat, but the heart was still at a nice 146, 147 bpm. I felt like I could go all day.

Fifteen minutes, my first mile, and I feel like a million bucks. It's crazy that I should feel this good after only two sessions, but things are clearly going great. I am feeling really good about myself.

At around 17:40 the belt stopped abruptly. I caught myself just in time to avoid striding into the console and grabbed the side rails to keep from falling. I looked down and the surface below me was rolling gently forward - not smoothly back as I had hoped. I clicked the stop button. It stopped. I clicked the start button. It labored back into action, but without any power. I also noticed that where just moments before the console had proudly proclaimed that I was speeding along at "4" of some unit of measure, there were now flashing lights repeating Err4...Err4...Err4 like a stammering dodgeball bully. I looked around quickly. Oh my God! I just broke another treadmill! Had anyone seen? Should I just walk away? Would the burly men with the shaved heads come burling up to ask me to leave quietly? Was I actually going to have to go tell someone that I had just broken a freaking treadmill?

No one had noticed. I tried the buttons a few more times, glancing around hoping that someone would come to my rescue. No luck. I had to go to the very pleasant woman at the counter and tell her.

"I just broke your treadmill. Am I too heavy for that machine?"

She never even seemed to take the question seriously. "Oh, I don't see how. They just get funny sometimes." I mumbled something about the "Out of Order" machine. She said something about a new belt. My vision was a blur of shame and sweat. We stood on either side of my second victim in two days. She pushed buttons while I wished desparately for a new rope and a stout beam. Finally she said "I'll be right back." and zipped away, leaving me alone at the scene of my crime. I could swear I smelled burned rubber as I stood there watching all the young beautiful people running, lifting, twisting. I could not have felt more clumsy or stupid if I had come out of the locker room without my pants on.

My kind friend returned with - a burly man with a shaved head. I imagined the look he would give me as he sized me up quickly before delivering a humiliating kick to some gelatinous bulge in my nether regions. Instead, he looked at the console and clicked the start button. The three of us watched as the belt purred into action, the ever encouraging lights letting the invisible runner know that they were sprinting along as a speed of "0.5". The burly man gave me a quick smile. "Working fine now."

"Well. I guess that's it then." the kind lady said and they returned to their posts--- and so did I. I finished my walk, two miles today -- though I noticed that my heart rate was a little higher after the break.

Peace,
b

1/14/08, Snowing lightly
Walking, Treadmill, Flat
2 miles
00:30:00
Max HR 151
Resting HR 104

My Adventure Begins

I have avoided posts about myself because ... oh, I don't know. Maybe I just want to feel important and smart. It's easier to be cosmic than to be real.

Anyway, I've decided to break that policy in order to journal an adventure that I hope will last for the rest of my life. Mrs Pennsy and I joined a gym yesterday.

Let me put this into perspective - I am 47 years old, 6'-4" tall and weigh 374 lbs. That's a body mass index of 45.5. That number is not an accident. It is a consequence of a lifetime of choices - some good, mostly bad. A lot of destructive habits produced this body, and I sort of hope I can change the results by changing my behavior.


I will still bloviate about God, the Universe and All That from time to time at Pennsyltuckian. My relationship with my Creator is one of the primary reasons I have started off on this adventure. I'd sort of like to be able to tell God that I did something with the healthy, strong body I was blessed with besides filling it with chocolate and potato chips.

Actually, there are several things I'd like to be able to do. I'd like to live long enough to retire, for example.

So off I go. Maybe my story will inspire someone else, as I have been inspired. I certainly hope that by putting myself "out there" I can develop a sense of accountability to someone - even if no one else reads. I really want to succeed this time.

Peace,
Pennsy

1/13/08, Rainy & Cold
374 lbs
Treadmill walk
1.25 mi
0:25 min
180 Max HR

Fat Man Running - the adventure begins

Today I am beginning a new blog project I'm calling Fat Man Running. I have avoided posts about myself because ... oh, I don't know. Maybe I just want to feel important and smart. It's easier to be cosmic than to be real.

Anyway, I've decided to break that policy in order to journal an adventure that I hope will last for the rest of my life. Mrs Pennsy and I joined a gym yesterday.

Let me put this into perspective - I am 47 years old, 6'-4" tall and weigh 374 lbs. That's a body mass index of 45.5. That number is not an accident. It is a consequence of a lifetime of choices - some good, mostly bad. A lot of destructive habits produced this body, and I sort of hope I can change the results by changing my behavior.


I will still bloviate about God, the Universe and All That in this space. My relationship with my Creator is one of the primary reasons I have started off on this adventure. I'd sort of like to be able to tell God that I did something with the healthy, strong body I was blessed with besides filling it with chocolate and potato chips.

Actually, there are several things I'd like to be able to do. I'd like to live long enough to retire, for example.

So off I go. Maybe my story will inspire someone else, as I have been inspired. I certainly hope that by putting myself "out there" I can develop a sense of accountability to someone - even if no one else reads. I really want to succeed this time.

Peace,
Pennsy

1/13/08, Rainy & Cold
374 lbs
Treadmill walk
1.25 mi
0:25 min
180 Max HR

What's in a Name? - The Holy Name of Jesus

On January 1, the eighth day after Christmas, we remember the day Joseph & Mary's child was circumcised and named.

And when eight days were accomplished for the circumcising of the child, his name was called JESUS, which was so named of the angel before he was conceived in the womb.
(Luke 2:21)

They obeyed the command that both had received from holy messengers. In Luke's gospel, the angel tells Mary

Fear not, Mary: for thou hast found favour with God. And, behold, thou shalt conceive in thy womb, and bring forth a son, and shalt call his name JESUS. He shall be great, and shall be called the Son of the most high.
(Luke:30 (b) - 32 (a))

In Matthew, Joseph is told not to abandon his pregnant finace with the promise

Joseph son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary home as your wife, because what is conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will give birth to a son, and you are to give him the name Jesus, because he will save his people from their sins.
(Matthew 1:20 (b) - 21)

The name of the child was important enough that both evangelists tell us that it was given to his parents by angels. In English, we identify that name with the man Jesus of Nazareth, but to Jesus' own people, his name was filled with meaning.

The name that we translate into Jesus was Yeshua in Hebrew. It is actually a familiar version of the name Yehoshua. It means "Lord (or Jehovah) who is salvation)."

In English, we might call a child Faith or Godfrey or Regis if we wanted to give them a name that sounded particularly pious or royal. Any author chooses character names carefully because of what they say about the person who bears them. Oliver Twist or Billy Pilgrim are names that tell you something about the character before you even meet them.

So it is with the name of Jesus. It was not a rare name in Hebrew culture, but it was a special one.

If the life of Jesus is a story, then God is that story's author. God chose Jesus name deliberately so that "Jehovah" and "salvation" would be present in the mind of the listener whenever that name was mentioned.

In time, he came to be known as Jesus Christ, but Christ is not a name, rather it is a title, from the Greek christos which is the translation of the Hebrew messias meaning "anointed one." In the gospels, the evangelists refer to Jesus the Christ. After the resurrection, the early Christians transformed Jesus Christ or Christ Jesus into a single proper name, not unlike Julius Caesar.

So what's in Jesus' name? Not a magic spell that grants us wishes when we pray "in Jesus' name." Instead, his name honors both his heavenly father, and the world whose salvation he came to effect. Just as Jesus was both God and human, so also his name spans two dimensions - Jesus the man and Jesus the name are both links between the creator and creation. The name Jesus testifies to the radical love God has for the world.

Peace and Happy New Year!
Pennsy

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The icon of the Circumcision is from the remarkable website Orthodoxy in China