Until just recently, when I exercised, my time between sets was used for memorizing Bible verses. That was before we bought a house with a basement. Upon closing, my exercise equipment was immediately banished to the creepy, crawly depths of the underground. Against my will I was forced do something else with my no-more-than-30 seconds between curls or lunges.

It started one early morning when, bleary eyed and semi-conscious, I descended into the basement. I flipped on the light, and when I reached the bottom step, a giant spider like you’d see on The Lord of the Rings was gripping the wall in front of me about chest level. It stood perfectly still, not moving a muscle, like all poisonous animals that are ready to strike. For a micro second, I stood frozen, terrifed, unable to scream. Then, my instincts kicked in, and with a move too quick for any camera with today’s technology to capture, I karate kicked the spider against the wall with an audible crunch.

It was a bloody mess, which, in my opinion, needed crime scene tape. With the dead spider still hanging on to the wall by a leg, I proceeded to go about my morning exercise routine, wondering how many of those things had made it into our bed as we lay helplessly fast asleep at night.

Since then, I’ve noticed that our basement is quite the den for an assortment of bugs (some of which are possibly yet to be discovered by Science), spiders and, yes, even an occasional snake here and there. So, these days it is not unusual to find me in the basement lifting weights and stomping on bugs in between sets. Why, just this morning, after a hard round of push ups, some poor bug with a million legs got a taste of one of my infamous bug-crushing karate kicks.

Joe - 1, Bugs - 0.

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It’s a good hurt, I kept telling myself. By now, my breathing had reduced to a heavy wheeze and I started having serious questions about my heart holding out. It’d been no less than ten years since I last jumped into a full court basketball game. Now I was paying the penalty. Sure, I run. I exercise a little. But anything outside the usual strain of my exercise routine is quick to send me to my knees and keep me popping Aleve for the next 48 to 72 hours.

Some guys at work had rented out a court for two hours last night from 6 to 8. It was about 45 minutes into it that, after throwing up several bricks and watching my guy score yet another easy layup while I stood propped on my knees, I wondered if 8 o’clock would ever come. This was in contrast to my first 5 minutes on the court, when I secretly nominated myself as the team motivator.

At first, I handed out high fives and “good game’s” like Monopoly money, doing everything except the patented “good job” swat to the butt, which I had already determined would come later after I sank my first twenty shots and team comaraderie had a chance to build. 10 minutes later I was about ready to collapse, and this new sports attitude fell to a silent gasping for air.

When 8 o’clock finally arrived, I drug myself off the court ( I don’t remember saying bye to anyone) and woke up 15 minutes later at home. This morning I pulled out a pair of extra thick socks, to ease the friction on the developing blisters and bruised toe nails.

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I don’t feel like myself this morning. For the most part, I have it down to a disciplined science: I wake up early, read my Bible, and then struggle through some exercises. But right now exercise doesn’t appeal to me. I’ll be kicking myself later when I’m all holed up in my cubicle at work, gazing at spreadsheets. Around lunch time my attitude will crash and my body will start having fits, screaming at me, demanding any kind of movement. Just a slight strain, please? I can’t help it. This morning laziness wins. And everyone around me will most likely have to pay. Sorry world…Joe didn’t get his exercise.

Okay. I’m back. I couldn’t stand it. I just exercised. Everybody can now relax.

Categories: Fitness
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