Aristotle and the Gym Rat

Wow. I'm actually really, really bored.

Was supposed to go gyming tonight. Bad trip, it rained. Like hello, there was nothing in the forecast yesterday kaya. Not that I checked. But I feel I've been slighted.

Not that the rain would have actually licked my appetite for some boot camp therapy, at least not on days when I’m supercharged and I’d hie off to the gym whenever I was free. Nah, these days I let my lazy-ass self get the better of me. So now I have to make amends on some other day, tentatively maybe tomorrow.

Anyone who goes to the gym knows how hard it is to keep off the corporeal undesirables. I say keep off, coz maintenance is really the bitch of 'em all. So it's back to the usual excuse-ridden drawing board for me. Except that I already got it all figured out: how to get uber-sleek, like in the ads. Of course, let’s remain conscious of the fact that like the girl next to you, we're not talking about Rebecca Romijn-Stamos standards here.

Definitely, it's no walk in the park. But it ain't no rocket science either. Like anyone who's experienced the epiphany would tell you, it can sound utterly simple, to the point of incredulity:

Regular Exercise + Balanced Diet = Kickass Bod

Of course, it would depend on how you qualify kickass. For me, it's trying (this being the operative word) to look like the rockin’ chicks with the high-flying kicks in them Nike ads (Mia Sun, I'm still here in case one of your girls needs a body double, the 5"-frame notwithstanding).




For others, it's prolly trying to cop Kate Moss' drugged-up waifish look. Not that I have anything against the girl. In fact, I love her style, which to me is the basis for her redemption as an icon. She definitely has the bohemian vibe going, which is just as well. Better than going the whole slinky Lindsay Lohan/Hilary Duff “Is she or isn’t she?” way. I mean, waxing anorexic is so 1990's. Athletic chic is the new crazysexycool. Think Pussycat Dolls. Think Angelina Jolie. Think impossibly lean arms a la Madonna sculpted through hours of doing yoga. And she's, what, 55? Hell of a way to look on the years you're supposed to be having your mid-life crisis. But I digress.

So anyhoo. I did get down and dirty, and I was rewarded with seven whole days of early-morning highs when I would get up and just feel glorious in my own skin. I mean, for quite some time until a few weeks ago, friends would tell me I was really working it, and it felt great. But there was this week wherein I really did acknowledge it to myself. As in near-zero orange peel, if you can imagine that. And dude, that ain't no Minnie Mouse feat for someone who's been on the mooncake-chubby side for a good number of years. It was a revelation: I could hack it with the best of them. (Of course, in the grand scheme of things, one could only do so much.)

But well, it was prolly too much for me to handle. I think there's actually a principle out there not unlike the Law of Diminishing Returns that says I would actually have to fall prey again to my characteristic inconsistencies. And I know it's no biggie really, coz I'm still better off than I was a year ago. But I can say that there are more days when I skipped the gym and took a detour at the mall, lugging around a beat-up backpack filled with gym essentials (coz I decided at the last minute, "It's 2 hours to closing time, I think I'll go tomorrow instead" or "Maybe I'll see my crush and my half-moons are so totally showing and he's probably gonna be totally weirded out") than there are days that I actually worked out at the old sweatshop. Loser, di ba? In these instances, my mind gets flashes of my motto du jour, courtesy of--no less--Aristotle, THE man: Excellence is not an act but a habit. Hah. So much for Miss Excellence in Gym Attendance. I live for the spontaneous inconsistent. But at the same time, my inconsistencies are the bane of my existence.

So where do I go from here? To Intercon. Tomorrow at 3pm. Just in time for the Punchbag Aero class, which I've never been to previously. Coz I never get to the gym in time for the classes. But that's extra info than I actually care to divulge. I swear, my lapses into the irrelevant are starting to irritate me.

Finally, signs of intelligent life. My college friend Noralen just called and insisted I have dinner with her at Gerry's Grill. Not my kind of cuisine, but that'll hafta do. If you can't go gyming, go eat. That's my ultimate motto. And I think the average Pinoy would agree with me that as far as words of wisdom go, I think I just became my own personal Aristotle.