Well, since there’s no abuse like self abuse, I decided to go to the gym again with Trainer Jarrod.
I sit here, in my house, in my blogging chair, wearing my blogging pants (they were warm and fresh out of the dryer!), eating 90% dark chocolate with a glass of orange juice as a chaser.
Ok, in hindsight the orange juice does not go well with dark chocolate. At all. Eww. I’ll put a pin in that and come back to it later.
I was off work today, sitting in this same chair, completely dead to the world. I was obviously in the middle of my ritualistic late morning/early afternoon nap. However, Trainer Jarrod didn’t get the memo… He either didn’t get it or he decided to ignore it. I’ll have to check to see which one. Either way, he FaceTimed me and woke me up from my peaceful hibernation.
What did he want? He wanted to go to the gym. For fun. Again. And he wanted me to accompany him. I’m starting to think he wanted me to go so I could make him feel better about himself. I mean, I’m a sizable dude. I’m 165lbs of sheer athletic muscle with a face made for radio and stuff… But Trainer Jarrod, he’s large. Well, he’s short. About 5 feet tall on a good day to be exact. But he’s like a 5’x5′ brick wall of muscle. Rock hard, squishy, protein-laced muscle. So I think he takes me with him to make him feel larger. He can also lift heavier weights than I can, so that has to be an ego boost for him, too… Kind of like going to a very obese doctor to make you feel healthier than you really are. That last part is just a theory though.
Anyway, so he wakes me up from my sleep and he wants to go to the gym with him. And since I have a less-than-booming social life, I decided to go.
This story is similar to the last gym blog, but it’s completely different. So you should definitely keep reading…. And maybe help a gym-brotha’ out and share/like/Pinterest..?/tweet this.
We show up to the gym. I still can’t figure out why I decided to wear basketball shorts in the winter, but I did. Trainer Jarrod begins his usual 15 minute pre-workout beverage chugging. Judging by how he almost puked on the carpet repeatedly, I think it tasted bad. Actually, I think he was trying to get “in the zone”. FYI: When Trainer Jarrod gets “in the zone”, it is not Autozone. He goes to O’Rilley.
After he started his “zoning” routine and after establishing that it was not automotive related, I had three very obvious questions for him: 1). Where did he get a zone? 2). Where can I get one? 3). Can I buy it on Amazon? He just shook his head and walked away. So I followed behind him like the lost puppy I was.
After another dry heave from the odd-colored beverage, he told me that today was biceps and triceps day. Great. I reach into my pocket, pull out my weight lifting gloves and begin to put them on my well-proportioned hands. That’s when Trainer Jarrod looked at me and said, “Aww… Those are cute! Do they match your purse?”
Firstly, it’s not a purse. It’s a messenger bag… And by “messenger bag”, I mean “manly gym gear bag with manly things inside”.
Secondly, I’m pretty sure he was being sarcastic again… Complicated sarcastic jokes aren’t one of his strengths, so I think he probably told it wrong. I was the sibling blessed with that gene. You’re welcome, and yes, it’s both a gift and a curse that I proudly bare on my mildly sore shoulders.
Thirdly, the gloves came off for that workout. Literally, I took them off. Apparently it’s weird to color coordinate gloves with shoes in the gym setting… Whatever.
That whole glove thing sounded a little feminine… ahem… Moving on… Of all the muscles he could pick to work, he picked the important arm ones. I use those for things! Those are my manly knife-throwing and wood splitting muscles! And they just got done being sore from last time I went to the gym with him! Trainer Jarrod said (and this is pretty much a direct quote), “are you ready to annihilate your arms? You won’t be able to hold them up straight tomorrow.” And then I’m pretty sure I heard some scary music in the background… I should have known that was an omen. He rattled off a bunch of big gym words, I remember one was called a Reverse Skull Crusher, and that was at about the same time when I realized I had left my helmet in the car. It’s not like I could go get it though, I was in basketball shorts, in the winter. I would freeze to death!
So Trainer Jarrod chucks a dumbbell at me, which I gracefully catch. Of course, after that I have to one-up him. I grab the DB (us gymfolk call the dumbbells “DB’s”) and toss it at him… Well, I meant to. I didn’t realize that I had grabbed a super heavy one on the far end of the weight rack. I didn’t even get it off of the stupid the rack. Let me tell you, had Trainer Jarrod or anyone actually saw that, it would’ve been embarrassing. Almost more embarrassing than twerking at an elementary school football game when you have no connection to any of the kids playing. Not that I’ve done that or anything… Because, well, it would be embarrassing.
We jump right into this lifting thing and after 30 minutes, I’m about done. We were doing this tricep-extension thingy where you hold this weight thing behind your head and then try to extend your arm up straight over your head. It was hard. Trainer Jarrod did it with like 180 pounds. I stuck to the 30-ish lbs area, I don’t want to get too bulky… And then my arm decided to stop working. It didn’t just stop working, it stopped working. I couldn’t move it, so Trainer Jarrod came to the rescue. He looked me in the eye, and said something that I’ll never forget. He said, “come on now, you can’t let a little lactic acid stop you!” I’m not sure who this Lactic Acid is, but he needs to stop interfering with my workout. Seriously, I’m not sure what this person does to the weights, but he just makes them so darn heavy! And I hate to mention this, but his parents really set him up for failure in life. Who names their kid Lactic? Really? Is he Latin or something? I bet he’s still grumpy about his parents’ poor naming decisions and takes his aggression out on sabotaging my workout.
Thankfully, (and with the help of Trainer Jarrod’s excessively strong forearms), I finished the workout. I took a break for about 5 minutes so Trainer Jarrod could slam down more odd colored liquid and dry heave some more. I’m pretty sure that’s also when Mr. Lactic and his spiteful attitude left. I think Trainer Jarrod had a talk with him or something. This workout lasted literally 3 hours. That’s like, 90 minutes on each arm. I’m glad we didn’t do hand exercises today, that would make this much more difficult to type.
Oh! Also, after much thinking and a very strange turn of events, I cancelled my membership at the 24-hour shower gym and got one at *thinks of clever name* Obese Macks. I have a membership at Obese Macks with Trainer Jarrod now. Because I’m a gym person…. Or something like that. I haven’t quite figured it out yet.
And it’s official, orange juice does not go well with 90% dark chocolate. Where’d my Hawaiian Punch go… I need something to wash this down. Gahh…