At the Gym

Last fall i discovered that for a modest premium increase i could get free membership to a good gym, so at the beginning of February i got into the program and joined the 24 Hour Fitness on Market Street.   Well equipped gym, the latest equipment, and squeaky clean.  If i had to pick a flaw, it would be that i’m older than the grandparents of most of the clientele, almost all of whom are handsome, buffed young men or pretty, buffed young women.  The only thing that saves me is the handful of old walruses beside whom anybody would look good.
 
It’s a good feeling to be working out again, not really pushing hard but at least using the elliptical trainer to get my heart rate up, which i can do before it starts hurting too much.  Actually, the only thing that hurts very much now is my damn wrist where i broke the radius.  My orthodoc says to be patient and has written an authorization for therapy.  
 
The fringe benefit of being at the gym is that i keep noticing about every other visit that i’ve lost a pound.
 
Unfortunately, it seems to be the same pound, as when i check during the alternate visits, i find it again.
 
And yes, we all know the gym alone won’t do the trick, that the only way to actually lose weight is to consume fewer calories.  Which is easy enough to say, while the reality is that, as my legendary internist pointed out on my last visit after a glance at my latest lab report, i’m killing me softly with my spoon.
 
Clearly i need to either eat better or stop fiddling around and finish the job off more rapidly with the Segway.

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