Less fun than...

...something comically un-fun

Yup, that lame attempt at humour represents the level of my brain power right now.

Being sick is just the pits. Worse - it's the seeds.

Needless to say, zero fitness 3 days and counting.

Leg muscles melting; core strength congealing.

Pizza's Still Good Though

First of all, this.

Second, this.

True, I'm not actually saying anything. But it's late and sometimes it's better to leave the singing and soul-searching to the experts.

All I know is, making the perfect pass might even be better than dunking. Don't know for sure though. I can't tell if that's just wishful thinking, like when I was a virgin and I tried to pretend that sex wasn't that important.

I did slap some bass - I mean rim - recently, after a scary hiatus from anything remotely metallic. Two months of fairly regular exercise and I'm back to square one. Starting to realize that it might not be enough to change the output; it's just as important to reign the input under control. Lunges and crunches might not get me there. Sugar, simple carbs, french fries - maybe they're just a delicious recipe for living life on the ground floor. That kind of conviction can be undermined by stories about pro athletes eating garbage, like the one about Vince Carter and Tracy McGrady eating McDonalds on the way to the All-Star game in 2000, but there is always an exception to the rule.

Although this rule might be pretty rock solid.

Fitness Club Med

After 10 hours of travel, I'll forgive myself for the vague and uninspired pun. And pledge to achieve a higher standard of pun upon due rest. For now though, I'll be happy to get a few thoughts on virtual paper before I sleep:

- I did manage to maintain an exercise regimen, though one afternoon of airport/airplane food has me feeling as fit as a Sopranos extra.

- I have entered my fitness danger-zone, wherein I expect every push-up and stomach crunch to yield instantaneous and noticeable results; and in order to validate this expectation, I have begun to search for my image in any remotely reflective surface.

- In an unrelated note, I purchased Men's Health to read on the airplane.

- Running is infinitely more enjoyable in fine weather amidst beautiful scenery, which I re-discovered on Wednesday, with the Mediterranean sparkling all around me and the iPod shuffle throwing a no-hitter

- Running is desperately unpleasant when your wardrobe malfunctions and everything gets all "rubby", which I re-discovered on Thursday (the sparkling Mediterranean was completely irrelevant, proving yet again that you've got nothing if you don't have your health).

- It's entirely possible to lose your sense of balance in pursuit of physical fitness and overall good health; watching it in others falls somewhere between cloying and sad.

- You are what you eat; in addition to some excellent med-style food, I tried eating Rabbit for the first time on Friday. The verdict: nobody likes hearing about cute little bunny rabbits for dinner. All the same, delicious.

- I could definitely play center for the Maltese national basketball team, dunk or no dunk.

Regression Therapy

It appears that, after 7 weeks of improved fitness, I have become less capable of leaping through the air. It might have something to do with the persistent state of soreness that I experience after my Monday afternoon boot camp sessions. Hard to tell. I still wish I shelled out for decent kicks. Seriously, those Adidas way 4.3 pounds if they way an ounce.

Unfortunately, this setback was not the most disappointing revelation of the day. Turns out my childhood idols, Siskel and Ebert (What? Who were yours?), hated each other and harboured paranoid ethnic grudges.

Who would have thought that my 1980's suburban childhood would yield such disillusionment later in life?

Getting Pie, Getting Fed On a Beach

Vacations always seem to come when they are most desired. Especially when you have a cushy job that lets you rest every five or six weeks - like me, for example.

I'll admit it, I'm pampered. I've become accustomed to my regular hits of R n' R, and now I gots to have it.

Not sure what this upcoming holiday will do to my "training" though. How will I maintain this grueling schedule of occasional light exercise?

My only hope is that the Maltese people are as short and unathletic as I expect them to be. Maybe they will make me the center on their national team.

That would be dunkalicious.

B2: The Baconator Returns

Homer was wrong. Bacon - not beer - is the cause of, and solution to, all of life's problems. Salty, crispy, delicious bacon can trigger flavour explosions on the tongue and detonate satisfying chemical reactions in the brain. In large quantities, it can also put you on your ass and drain your will to breathe. In any normal situation, it might be easy to avoid the indulgence of breakfast meat. But when you're on the road, the hotel breakfast buffet is a dangerous foe.

I'm a relative newcomer to the conference/trade show scene, so I haven't developing the necessary coping strategies yet. I haven't developed the strength to select yoghurt and muesli when bacon and sausage are available in unlimited supply. I won't take myself to the gym in the morning, if I can wring another twenty winks from my lousy, lumpy bed. There's nowhere to go and nothing to do, because the conference centre/hotel is inevitably located in the sticks. This is a small, insulated world where intellectual stimulation is in short supply. Yesterday's highlights included: the discovery of a pants press machine in my room, and the sight of somebody actually using the shoe buffer in the hallway.

If you can summon the motivation, it is surprisingly easy to build momentum in your pursuit of a goal - IF you're in your comfort zone. Like a sports team on a roll, or a middle-aged woman on a Caribbean holiday, progress can feel easy when you find your groove. But rhythm is a precarious thing, something so many of us awkward dancers can attest to (you're in the club, you've found the beat, you're feeling "fly", and then the d.j. changes the tune - what do you do hot shot, what do you do?!)

I've been exercising for a month, eating well, regularly reflecting on the process. All good stuff. Still, a long weekend in Hannover has the potential to send me back to square one.

Welcome to the 28th Annual Craptacular Suckstravaganza

Sometimes sports brings out my worst characteristics. Like right now, for example.

Tonight I morphed into a giant suckwad, mostly because I was losing. My face got red and I wanted to kick something and scry (the combo scream/cry with the projectile tears).

I came home and addressed my frustration with appropriate maturity: couch + television + leftover Christmas brittle.

At least I get to navigate the German train system tomorrow.