physical activity – Kathy Waller

A Secret Pleasure at the Gym

Posted on June 18, 2015June 18, 2015 by M.K. Waller in Uncategorized

recumbent bike trainers with TV monitors on top

No, it’s not the swimming pool. It’s not the hot tub. It’s not the gorgeous male trainers.

It’s the closed captions.

Some machines at the gym have TV monitors attached so users won’t become bored. A wise move.

My first day on the recumbent bike, I said to myself, “Oh, pish-tosh! I don’t need television. I have an active mind and a rich internal life.”

The second day, I discovered my internal life isn’t rich enough to keep me pedaling for twenty minutes without my active mind imploding. So–on with the TV. Since I hadn’t brought earbuds, I turned on the closed captions.

Viewing choices are limited: some cable movies, lots of sports, a travel show, all about as stimulating as watching your knees rise and fall. But one news station runs unscripted programs, most related to business and the economy.

And the closed captions for those unscripted programs are a hoot.

During one session, I managed to take notes. Here are some of the fragments I recorded. Remember, the program was about finance, and my knees were moving up and down at 9.4 mph.

Captions

1. … when people gathered to talk about the economy and cucumbers…

2. …too much of Peoria for political to sin…

3. …when like at Europe the monkey is struggling and falling apart…

4. …and to see Barry big surprise interest from some pastries…

5. …we have the armpit that all of our options fade with time…

6. …the importance of a kiwi in Europe…

7. …call the stow the hillbilly of what is coming…

8. …take on a ministry the comics not to forget…

9. …the markets found some milk without the markets coming up…

10. …learned from a tumor and people said a tomato…

All that in just one session of violent bodily exertion. What more could I want?

Yesterday earbuds were available, but plugging them in didn’t cross my mind. Nor did announcing my find.

Those captions are my own little secret. When other cyclers look my way, wondering why I laugh aloud, they can just wonder.

And when the rest of the health nuts have dropped out from indolence and ennui, and I alone register perfect attendance, and when the muscleiest trainer can’t drag me off the bike, the Powers That Be will admire, nay revere, me. And they will give me head pats.

Gad, I love those headpats.

*

If you missed yesterday’s post about torture at the gym, you can read it at O Treachery, Thy Name Is Puller-Downer Thingey.

And yes, I’m pretty wiped out today.

O Treachery, Thy Name Is Puller-Downer Thingey

Posted on June 18, 2015 by M.K. Waller in Uncategorized

Brightly colored instruments of torture, heavier than they look.

More colorful double-dealers.

For strengthening the core. Deceptively innocent in appearance, but treacherous at its core. One mission: to unseat the trusting rider. Passive-aggressive.

For strengthening the cardio-pulmonary system. Old technology corrupted by new. See below.

Digital conspiracy #1: Information dump–time, speed,calories, watts, resistance, heart rate–heart rate? None detected. So much for cardio.

recumbent bike: "NO HEARTBEAT DETECTED" — recumbent bike trainer monitor: “NO HEARTBEAT DETECTED”

Digital conspiracy #2: TV monitor/pacifier. Vast wasteland pulls cyclist in, won’t let go. Twenty-minute rep turns into forty. Dr. Phil. “Shape It Up, Woo Woo!” (I did not make that up. It’s in Wikipedia.)

recumbent bike trainer TV monitor: Dr. Phil

Vile trickery. Toil masquerading as recreation. It seemed like fun. Too long did I tarry.

Today’s lessons:

1. When the trainer says to do 12 of something, do 12. Don’t do 30.

2. When you’re counting, pay attention. If you think you’ve done 12, don’t do another 8 or 10 just to make sure.

3. When the trainer says to go home and ice something, go home and ice it. Don’t forget and then decided it’ll probably loosen up and resume bending of its own accord.

4. When the sky opens and water pours onto the parking lot only three minutes before your cardio session is set to end, don’t just keep pedaling until the downpour stops. That’s too much pedaling.

5. Curb your enthusiasm. Stop doing more than the trainer and your brain tell you to. OCDs do not win. They just go home and ice things.

100-Word Story: Pogo Stick

Posted on May 29, 2015November 19, 2016 by M.K. Waller in Uncategorized

Friday Fictioneer Challenge: Write a 100-word story based on the photo.

I heard them talking.

Daddy said, She wants a pogo stick.

Mama said, She has enough presents.

Santa brought a pogo stick.

Daddy smiled. Sturdy.

We went outside.

Mama frowned. Don’t fall.

She’s fine. Daddy lifted me on.

I bounced. The pogo stick didn’t.

Daddy frowned. Spring’s tight. You’re not heavy enough.

Daddy tried. He bounced down the sidewalk.

Mr. Smith came over. Can I try?

Daddy jumped off. Sure.

Mr. Smith bounced down the driveway. This is fun.

Let me try again, Daddy.

Daddy bounced up the driveway.

Mama brought me my doll.

She’s right. I have enough presents.

Instructions for this week’s story—

” The following photo is the PHOTO PROMPT. What does it say to you? I dare you to look beyond the subject. I double dare you!”

I looked far beyond the subject: The rings of metal at the base of the metal skeleton reminded me of a spring, which reminded me of a pogo stick, which prompted my 100-word story. Maybe I’ll look more closely at the reptile and try again. There’s a lot of potential in that lizard.

*

To read more stories by Friday Fictioneers, click the frog, below.

No Runs, No Hits, Several Errors

Posted on June 25, 2013 by M.K. Waller in Uncategorized

I promised myself that tonight I would be on my stationary bike by 8:30 p.m. and in bed by 10:00.

Missing the bike objective, I set a new one: 9:00 p.m.

So I sit here at 8:55, watching the minute hand make its way toward the 12, and I think, Should I push that goal back to 9:30?

Doing so would push bedtime back to 10:30 or thereabouts. Too late, really, for someone who sincerely desires to reestablish normal sleep patterns. As in, sleep while it’s dark, etc. and so forth.

Oh dear, oh dear. I’m about to miss the 9:00 p.m. bike time. In fact, I just did. It’s one minute after.

Perhaps it’s not necessary to begin biking on the hour or the half-hour. Perhaps it’s possible to bike for 16 minutes, or 23, or 27. Perhaps getting to bed by 10:03 would be acceptable.

Black-and-white thinking impedes progress. I’ll get on the bike as soon as I’ve finished this post. And if the minute hand happens to be atilt, so what?

###

The photograph has nothing to do with the post.

Promises, production, and pain

Posted on June 7, 2010June 7, 2010 by M.K. Waller in Uncategorized

Last week CP and I made a pact to write at least 100 words a day.

When I began this manuscript, I wrote at least 500 words a day. But with one thing and another, over the months, production slipped. So, although 100 seemed paltry compared to what I used to do, or what I could or should do, I thought it a reasonable minimum, small enough not to feel threatening or to spark the dreaded Writer’s Block.

If I’d known I was going to rejoin Curves today, however, I would have held out for only fifty.

I made one Curves circuit, fifteen minutes of pushing and pulling against hydraulic resistance. Twice would have possible but stupid. In the first place, I have no sense of proportion. No shades of gray. It’s all or nothing. If I’d stayed, I would have ended up putting every scrap of energy I possessed into doing battle with those machines. And at the end of the day, I’d have felt worse than I do now.

In the second place, …I’ve forgotten what’s in the second place.

That’s an indication of how fit I am to add 100 words to Molly’s story before I crater.

But a pact is a pact. Is a pact.

Rats.