I’ve had the treadmill for almost two weeks now and have been using it on the regular. I’ve also become better at running for slightly longer periods of time; nothing that anyone who runs would think is anything significant or even for real, but for someone like me, who hasn’t run as exercise for more than 10 years, it’s significant enough. I find that I dislike using the terms “working out” or “running” to describe what I’m doing, so I usually describe my plans as “I’m going to go deal with the treadmill in a minute.”
I can’t read while I use it, both because there’s no attachment to hold any reading material and because I don’t know how anyone reads anything when they’re bobbing up and down and in danger of falling on their face/getting shot into the wall behind them. I also don’t like listening to music, which shoots down Stephanie’s theory that I’ll get really into dance music or, as she refers to them and I have added the Z, “booty poppin’ jamz.” Some songs are too long and I notice the parts I don’t like more when I’m trying to count down the seconds until I can stop running and go back to my ultra-fast, giant-stride walking. Which is actually only a shade faster than I normally walk, which is why most people don’t like walking around in public with me, because apparently it’s rude to stop in the middle of a parking lot and wait for someone else to catch up. I prefer to watch movies while I deal with the treadmill. Stupid comedies are best. 80’s movies are good, too. I’ve also started watching tolerable romantic comedies, like When Harry Met Sally or Bridget Jones’ Diary.
You know what I realized last night? I am fatter than Bridget Jones. If you don’t know anything about Renee Zellweger movies or British people, Bridget Jones’ Diary is about Bridget Jones writing a diary, and every entry is prefaced with her weight, number of cigarettes smoked, and number of alcohol units consumed. My cigarette and alcohol unit consumption are way below anything in her diary – I’ve never smoked and I drink far, far less than I used to – but the weight is bizarrely low for someone of Bridget Jones’ lifestyle. 136 pounds? Are you shitting me? The 6′ foot tall, wrist-thin girl in my office weighs about that much, and I could probably pick her up and use her as a javelin. I haven’t weighed 136 pounds since maybe my freshman year of high school. Even when I was very thin, I still weighed more because I have bones and teeth and shoulders like a Russian peasant. Maybe it makes sense because Renee Zellweger is much shorter than I am, but still, 136 pounds seems a lot lower than the average in both America and Britain.
It was a big deal when Renee Zellweger gained weight to play Bridget Jones. When the movie came out, I was in my very thin phase and thought that wow, she really did put on some weight for the role. When I watch it now, I think oh, come on, it’s not that bad. Yeah her thighs touch, but her collarbones look okay and Spanx still do their job. Then I remember that I am thinking about an industry that rewards raw foodism and the Olsen twins, and I realize that nothing I think while dealing with the treadmill matters.
Because I’m not going to be 136 pounds. I’m almost 30, that shit is just ridiculous now. I like food and beer and sleeping in when I can. For me, 136 pounds would require that I cut out at least 2/3 of what I eat, stop drinking altogether, and wake up before dawn every day (which I already do for work, which means my wake up time would be at 4am instead of 5:30, and that is just unacceptable) to do sprints through the neighborhood. And even then I might not make it, because I’m not built that way. I don’t even own a scale because like I need that kind of bullshit every day. The only numbers with the ability to frighten me are the ones in my bank account, which is exactly how it should be. At this point, the only thing that will make me lose that much weight is crystal meth, or, because I think almost exclusively in memes by this point:
Obviously I won’t do crystal meth. First of all, I’ve seen Intervention. Second, I’m not an idiot. Third, I have things to do, like work and maintaining a home and conducting a relationship, and those are on top of the optional things like writing here and for KDHX (two new reviews this week: Heartless Bastards at the Firebird and Craig Finn’s “Clear Heart Full Eyes”), as well as hitting the post office today to mail CDs to Mike 1 and Mike 2, and then a happy hour tonight followed by the Craig Finn show, and then hanging out with Jake tomorrow and doing a podcast with Deanna on Sunday after which THE WALKING DEAD COMES BACK TO TV! That’s a shitload of stuff to do and I’m on vacation right now.
Plus I got some Ronnoco French Roast and added it to the Ethiopian coffee from my friend’s sister and coffee doesn’t have this effect on me anymore but I am fucking wired. Crystal meth wouldn’t come close.