On Being Fat, Old, and Stupid

I went to the gym with Rick today. His wife Gigi met us there too.

It is ambivalently motivational to exercise with Rick. He is a truly nice person, a great motivator and obviously very knowledgeable about what he teaches me. He's a chiropractor and is in absolutely frightening shape.

Luckily for me, he is also a very nice person totally devoid of the all-too-typical Gym Rat attitude.

Of course, in Hong Kong, that attitude can include hogging the water fountain while you fix your hair in the mirror over it. Which would be okay if it was a girl. But it wasn't. Forgive me if I add that it wasn't really a man, either. F@#$ing jerkoff...

Where was I?

Oh, yes, exercising. I try my best to keep up, and I am increasingly surprised at my capacity to do so. Still, I have a very long way to go. But like I said, Rick makes it easy, since he is constantly encouraging me even as he is mercilessly kicking my ass in the gym.

He's so nice I didn't even get mad when he told me he wants to go on a diet.

Remember, this is him:

The sun was out. Otherwise, Rick is perpetually smiling. I'd smile too if I looked like that.

"What the hell do youwant to be on a diet for?" I asked.

I mean, I need to be on a diet. Actually, I need to be on two.

"I want to get back to the shape I was in during high school," he said.

"What the f@#$ are you talking about?" If he gets into any more shape, he won't even need to sleep.

"I was 5.5% body fat in high school. I want to get back to that," he said, in such a sincere fashion that I almost had a hard time getting mad at him.

"What are you now, 5.8?"

"Oh, I wish," he said. "I just feel like I need a new challenge."

"You want a f@#$ing challenge? Make melook like you. Then worry about 5.5 f@#$ing percent."

Can you believethis guy?

Still, I admire that he will constantly push himself.

It gives me a very good example to live up to, and makes it that much harder to quit, no matter how hard my injuries beg me. I have a lot of them, and they beg really loudly.

I'm always very grateful to be exercising with a doctor, since it is very likely that at least once a week some part of me or another will up and quit on me.

Rick will just say "Your knee exploded? Ice it when you get home. Let's go do arms then."

He's rough, I tell you.

He's got a sense of humor though, too, and I always admit that any grief he gives me, I have earned. Like today, when he extended our workout an extra ten minutes to make us do things that were outside of what we were originally doing.

I quickly realized his plan: He had moved over near the part of the gym where one of the personal trainers was working with someone.

Rick knows I think she's cute.

He therefore knows that he could tell me to beat myself in the face with a 35# plate, 5 sets of 20 reps, and I'd do it rather than look like a fat old man in front of her.

Which is dumb, because I get the lurking suspicion (given her distinctly tomboyish presentation) that she and I may actually have similar taste in (and for) women.

I try to be social and polite (okay, I'm lying; so what?) and always say hello to her.

Sadly for me, it simply mystifies her why this gweiloalways says hello (and nothing else, since Rick keeps me too busy).

Sadly for her, I find the whole concept very funny, so I keep doing it.

Though today she actually seemed, well, un-confused when I said hello. I was, of course, inappropriately happy about that.

Like I said, it would be dumb for me to even bother saying more than hello, for a lot of reasons. Although it would make for a very funny exchange as Idiot Boy tries to to talk to her:

She: Why are you talking to me?

He: Why not?

She: I like girls.

He: Me too!

She: I mean, I don't like boys.

He: Me either! We have so much in common!

It's not easy going through life as a fat old retard.