You know that scene they sometimes have in army movies, the scene where the sadistic drill sergeant yells at the new recruit, "Drop and give me 50, maggot" and the soldier does 50 perfect push-ups with mechanical precision?

That's all done with special effects.

No. Really. I mean it.

Back in January my trainer said I should be able to do two sets of ten push-ups in a row. When he demonstrated the technique to me he stretched out, held his body ramrod straight and pumped up and down like some sort of human oil derrick.

Looked like a piece of cake to me.

So I confidently dropped to the floor and assumed the position. I went to lower myself for my first push up and my arms said, "What, are you NUTS?" and gave way under me. I could hear my trainer stifling a snicker.

I regrouped, tried to reclaim a morsel or two of my tattered dignity, got my arms under my shoulders and figured I would do the push-up part, anyhow. Did you notice in the picture I linked to how the woman doing the push-up has her back ramrod straight? Well, you know, to do that you not only use your back muscles, you also need to use your ab muscles to hold your torso in place.

Struggling mightily, I managed to get my shoulders off the ground, but instead of looking like a ruler, my body looked like a very limp, very pitiful letter "C". And then my arms gave way.

Again.

Dignity? What is this thing you call dignity?

It took me six weeks, yes six weeks, of trying very, very hard, before I could do one freakin' push-up. One. And when I was done my one push-up I could feel the sweat running down my back from the exertion. Meanwhile, young high school boys--some of them with arms no bigger than spaghetti strands--were off in another corner of my gym knocking off a dozen push-ups in a row and not breaking a sweat.

You learn many things as you try to lash your body into shape and one of them is how easy it is to hate anonymous teen-aged boys.

Every night now I do about twenty minutes of stretching. I can't stress enough that it's Stretching And NOT Yoga so don't be expecting me to start eating granola and wearing Birkenstocks. I have my limits.

Why stretching? Well, if you do weight training as I do, your muscles tend to tighten up and you can actually lose flexibility, something I've lost anyhow just because I'm older than dirt. This stretching helps fight that loss, and besides it's wonderfully relaxing. In the middle of it, just to keep the happiness manageable, I throw in my push-ups.

I have been stuck at eight push-ups forever. Ten push-ups have felt as elusive as a good movie with Madonna in the lead. Last night, for the first time, I got my ten in. Once the muscles in my upper arms stopped screaming, I had a brief flash of euphoria. Then I realized that the goal was TWO sets of ten and crap on a stick, I'm not getting any younger and it took me seven months to get to the point where I could do TEN freakin' push ups.

I may well croak before I get to the point of being able to do two sets of ten push-ups.

I think we can all agree that it's tragedies such as this that fuel great literature.

As we were making supper together last night, the spousal unit asked me how it went at the garage. I told him I wasn't going back to that garage because of how the office was decorated and then I told him what I had seen.

He asked me if I wasn't over-reacting because after all, we watch R-rated movies. The things I saw in that office were all things I have seen in our home. I tried to explain to him the difference between doing this in the context of home, privacy and being with someone you love and walking into a stranger's office.

No dice. He didn't get it. I can't begin to tell you how much that surprised me. I've always considered the spousal unit to be a pretty clued in guy.

So then I had a little flash. I asked him how he would feel if he walked into a mechanic's office and he saw pictures of male dangly bits splashed about, as well as guys touching each other in very private places.

Bingo. Point made. And then some.

Now, if I can just find a clear and simple way to explain to my arms why we so desperately, desperately need to be able to do 20 push-ups ...

--Marn

Mileage on the Marnometer: 363.15 miles (584.4 kilometers)
Goal for 2003: 500 miles - 804.5 kilometers