You Can Only Go Up From Here, Mate

So it has recently come to my attention that I'm not nearly as fit as one might expect (myself included). From my appearance, being a bit slender in excess, one might assume that I'm in pretty decent shape. Granted, I've never really had much concern for watching my diet, and I've always been a little turned off by cardio workouts since they tend to be counter productive toward my goal of being bigger, but I never pegged myself as being much of a slouch.

This past week I joined a local gym and was given a physical assessment. This would provide my "trainer" with a better idea of where I'm at physically, regardless of my primary goal to put on weight (muscle mass). It all seemed very technical to the clueless observer (me), as I was put onto a very space-age looking bike, given a little clip to attach to my earlobe that would measure my heart rate, and watched as a little printout rapidly spewed jumbled numbers. I was told that after 10 minutes of peddling at a consistant, semi-slow pace, the machine would gauge my physical ability from 1 to 5, with 5 being the best. The trainer assured me, with said misguided assumption based on my appearance, that I should have no problem scoring fairly well. I watched as my heart rate slowly went up and the machine made the bike harder and harder to peddle. To be perfectly honest, I felt good. After the 10 minutes were over, I expected to "pass" with flying colors.

The trainer's eyes honed in on one spot of the printout as he seemed unsure what to say at first. All he could manage, God bless him, was "you can only go up from here, mate." The fact that I had scored an embarrassing "1" did not need to be clarified - an unspoken pity on his part.

A little disappointed with myself, he then wanted to see what I could do with some weights. We began with dumbbell presses, and I couldn't help but be a little put off (but understanding) when he handed me two 9kg dumbbells (roughly 20 pounds) and asked me to do 10 presses. Now, I'm not a big man by any stretch of the imagination, but on my worst day I still put up about 50lbs on each arm. I said nothing, having come face to face with humility after my poor showing on the delirium bike. Thankfully, he was fully aware after a few presses that he had assumed too little this time. After about 15 more minutes of lifting, doing several different kinds of lifts, I'm proud to say he was at least impressed with my ability to lift more than he had anticipated and said he was going to "make me his little project for the next four months." God bless him, indeed.

Since that day last week I've, somewhat ironically, had my cardio abilities put to the test on several occasions. My flat mate Will has taken me on a few incredible hikes that required many uphill battles and semi-scary downhill climbs. I've also recently become addicted to rock climbing, after Will took me to an indoor arena with dozens of walls to ascend. Finally a physical activity where my long limbs and slender build work to my advantage, rather the opposite. I've also joined Will's summer soccer team, and faired decently based on my expectations the first game. The initial 10 minutes of sprinting up and down the field was laughable, however, and I was left gasping for oxygen like a fish in a sandbox. I fell into a groove shortly, though, and managed to pull off the one assist of the game, only after having the opposing team's goalkeeper - lets call him Brutus - crush me to deathly proportions. Fingers-crossed I keep scars on my left leg to prove it.

All in all, I think it's safe to say I'll be returning to Cincinnati in much better shape than I left. Keep the that's-not-saying-much comments to yourselves, thank you very much.

Bloodied and brusied,
John