Bootcamp: New Sneakers Changed My Life (and Fuck You, MTA)

Don't anyone tell Ruben, but having my sneaker thrown into the murky drink was the best thing that ever happened to me. My new sneakers put a spring in my step I never would have imagined possible.

In other news, I can't find shoes to wear to this wedding this weekend and it took me over an hour to get home from Union Square. Love that the MTA is going to raise the subway fair for the third time in like two years. Garrrgh!

(I'm going to go wash that grump away with a quick shower. Have a great weekend, everyone. I'll be in Vermont, possibly barefoot.)

Bootcamp: A Great Day for New Sneakers!

Note to self: Never stop to stretch out a leg cramp in the middle of jackknife sit-ups if Ruben is watching.

Because I did that. This morning. And you know what happened?

My sneaker went for a dip in the ... I don't know what they call it, the pond-y bucket thing over which the rope swing swings.

Hilarious, yes, a little gross, sure, but sort of awesome. I took my other shoe off and continued merrily along with my sit-ups (in near-perfect form, thankyouverymuch). I figured he just did me a favor, actually. After another hell day on the stairs where I took another tire on a field trip to eleven, the thought of not being able to do anything more but crunches and stretching and things requiring no sneakers until the end of class sounded positively heavenly. Until I heard:

"Hit the course."

I'm thinking they're talking to someone else because, ummmmmmm, I can't hit anything. I've got a waterlogged shoe and cannot possibly be expected to do all that barefoot!

"Put your shoes back on."

Now they must be talking to somebody else because my shoe went swimming in the yuck pond!

But sure enough, there I was, putting my soggy shoe back on and hitting the course. Trench foot just waiting to happen.

Luckily, it was actually time for me to invest in some new sneakers anyway.

I shitcanned my sneakers in the locker room, came home and told Will. He chuckled and smirked through the whole story and is currently patting himself on the back for coming up with this clever retort:

"You go to the WORST SPA EVER."

Isn't he funny? Spa. Right. I should start inquiring as to when I get my weekly massage...

Disconcerting

I use Site Meter to track traffic on this blog (yes, I'm watching you. Bwah-hahahahahah hah!).

I found that someone visited my website, probably to the post on the Urbanathlon, from this Google search:

how is mens health going to climb 7 world trade if it fell?

I know this person from Scarsdale NY using Optimum Online's fine internet service probably thinks that World Trade 7 was part of September 11th, but either way, I find this search a little creepy.

Bootcamp: Alex Makes a Funny

I'm headed up to the 8th floor this morning (after 2 trips to eleven- Gah!) and Alex screams:

"REED!"

I have no idea what I could have been doing wrong. He said run up to 8, I ran. (well, to the door at least.) In a state of severe confusion, I turn around. Grinning from ear to ear, he continues:

"Grab two tires and put one on each arm and take them with you!"

I stood there, dumbfounded, wondering if he was actually serious (as Sari and I took a tire for a field trip to ten the other day). Then I remembered something I wrote last week. Maybe blogging about the gym isn't the best idea. Luckily he was only kidding.

I swear, the worst possible thing they could do to us would be an hour of stretching and napping. Jeez, I might never make it through! (hint, hint...)

I Tried, Local Coffeeshop.

Dear Coffee Shop Closest to my Apartment:

I can't go on like this anymore. I tried to rekindle our relationship. I felt like I was holding up my end of the bargain. I came back to you, I ordered coffee, I drank it, I did my work. I looked the other way when you had your Mommy & Me moments. I burrowed my head into my notebook when bratty kids pitched fits, I put headphones in when the chatty Cathies got chatty.

But today, CSCtmA, today you found the camel-back-breaking straw. When you allow your employees not only to listen to awful pop music but to sing along in lieu of collecting my money or getting my coffee, that seals the deal.

I just cannot be in a relationship with the Hot 97 of coffee shops. I'll even settle for the coffee shop on fire.

Best of luck to you.

Bootcamp: Seriously. Why so heavy, these tires?

See this guy here with the giant tire?

That was basically me this morning. Except I was lifting the damned thing over my head. Multiple times. With squat thrusts in between.

Will has decided that I deserve no sympathy for what I'm going through here and loves to remind me that I have paid these people to inflict this "workout" upon me.

See, today it all started with a new iPod playlist. Tired of the satellite radio mix that is played every day (with Parents Just Don't Understand in heavy rotation), Quinn complied a pretty awesome mix that we played this morning.

The first song up was Van Halen's Panama. I dare you to play that song and NOT dance. It's David Lee Roth, friends. The greatest entertainer of our generation. How can you resist shaking it to Diamond Dave's lyrical stylings?!

Well, Ruben caught me, and although I know he thought it was funny, I paid for it. I won't go into details (except to tell you that my tire today weighed no less than one metric ton), but just know that you should save all your joy for before or after the gym. Or maybe shake it in the stairwell...

Jump back, whats that sound ?

Here she comes, full blast and top down.

Hot shoe, burnin down the avenue.

Model citizen zero discipline

Dont you know shes coming home with me?

Youl lose her in the turn.

Ill get her!

Panama, panama

Café Fire!

I'm starting a new writing regimen. On the advice of a few friends, I'm working this week on timed writing exercises-- writing about anything in any style as long as I sit with a notebook for 45 (or more) straight minutes.

I figured a great way to start something new would be to start in a new place. There's this bakery/coffee shop in Red Hook that is quite tasty, well-designed, not super-crowded and they play good music.

So after Boot Camp, breakfast and a quick re-charging nap, I biked over and got to writing. It worked out well, things were flowing, I'm feeling good, and all of a sudden this one customer who had been chatty chatty from the moment he walked in starts getting louder and louder, screaming "TELL THEM NOT TO PUT ANY MORE LIQUID ON IT!"

Not wanting to distract myself from my writing, I paid him no mind. Until he kept on yelling. Then I turned around. Sure enough, there was bright orange light flickering from behind the plexiglass windows into the kitchen.

FIRE!

Cause for alarm? Nah. The three of us that were "working on stuff" just sort of looked around, but generally stayed put. The alarm went off, smoke slowly filled the room, an older couple quickly threw away the last of their cupcakes and hightailed it out the door. But the rest of us just sort of paused.

I overheard one of the kitchen gals telling a customer that by some odd New York State law, they're not required to keep a fire extinguisher in the kitchen (because their cupcakes are so cute, perhaps?), which explains why one guy went running out the front door only to return about 45 seconds later with a fire extinguisher from, I'm guessing, next door.

Anyway, all was fine. I've lived to tell the tale. I am, however, concerned that I actually waited to see if it was going to get so bad that I should leave.

I think this writing regimen is going to work out for me.

Bootcamp: WFBC at the Urbanathlon

The Men's Health Urbanathlon is a serious race-type thingy that goes down in September, involving an 8-mile run, a run up and down the 57 flights of stairs at 7 World Trade, a quick hop over two taxi cabs and scaling a 10' intensity wall.

A number of the Warriors have signed up to do this event (including MyHero, the insane Sari Nickelsburg). I am not one of them. I have pledged to sit at the finish line with a cooler full of champagne, ice packs and Ben Gay.

Ruben and Alex are doing it too, and are helping people train by adding more running and more stairs to the normal WFBC workout.

I'm not sure they understand that I AM NOT DOING THE URBANATHLON and therefore do not require 4 trips to the 11th floor every morning.

(the stairs are making me tired)

Bootcamp: The Nightmare is REAL

I carried a tire up 8 flights of stairs.

I should have seen trouble a-brewin' when Alex told only Sari and me to go with Ruben while the other 8 or so people stayed with him.

When we got to Ruben, he had us grab a tire on which we did squat thrusts, lifting the tire overhead after each one. Torture, you say? Read on.

Then the hurdles, and back to Ruben in Tireland. More squat thrusts. Or squat presses. Or whatever the hell. All I remember is when he said

Ok. Up to eleven.

No, it's not a Spinal Tap reference. He wanted Sari and I each to take a tire and run (ha!) up to the 11th floor and back down.

Amazingly, I didn't die. But I did scream to Sari at one point

Nickelsburg! I'm trapped in this horrible nightmare where they've got me on the stairs with a tire. Wake me up!!!

And there was more, but I don't really remember it. I think I also fell asleep standing up in the shower. Luckily, I did manage to squeeze in a full eight hours of sleep last night, which I believe is the only reason I'm alive right now.

Ride the City

I forget where I stumbled upon this genius little site (probably Gothamist), but for anyone using two wheels (and a helmet!) to get around the city, it's a real find.

Ride the City provides Google Maps with biking directions all over the five boroughs, including where there are and are not bike lanes. You can choose directions by safety or speed or by the most direct route.


For example, I'm headed to Williamsburg this morning to meet a friend and have chosen to go by the Most Direct Route (wearing my helmet makes me feel safe enough to shave 10-15 minutes off my trip). Note in the screenshot above it tells me where there are bike lanes and where to use extra caution. It also makes a note of where there is a bikeway or greenway and where, in case of emergency, there is a nearby bike shop.

They may still be working out a few kinks in the site (for some reason, my map jumped to Rhode Island...), but I consider this an invaluable tool for anyone using their bike for business or pleasure.

Bootcamp: I didn't realize we were in Tokyo!

Ever done "Japanese Sit-ups"?

I did 20 of 'em today and am not quite sure how I feel about it, though my inner thighs are screaming "no, no NOOOOOOoooooo, Dear God, NOOOOOOO! Please don't make us go back there!!!"

Picture it-- partner sit-ups, like in this video:

only when you come up from your back, you fully stand up before going back down. Stand. Up. Vertically. It's a momentum-based affair for sure, and it plays a game of rapid destruction on your thighs (or at least on my thighs).

Something tells me that if you do these on a regular basis, you could get in shape fairly quickly. In the same vein, you might also DIE.

Today was a day of some near-major achievement: I made it almost all the way across the first set of monkey bars.

That's right! I just about achieved something 14,000,000 seven-year-olds do everyday. Dare to dream, my friends. Dare to dream.

So with calloused hands (I'm going to have to tape my hands under the gloves) and broken thighs, I got onto the F train and headed home, exhausted yet invigorated.

At Jay St, just two short stops from mine, a veritable gaggle of children piled into the car, screaming and flailing (ever realize how much pre-adolescents flail? It's dangerous to be seated near them), knocking into my book and generally crowding me and making me nervous. Some sort of field trip gone horribly awry before they even reached their destination. I switched cars at Bergen, and as I was walking off the car and another woman was about to get on I mumbled to her "Um, there's like a bunch of children in that car." She followed me into the last car, opting for whatever quiet the train can provide sans middle-schoolers.

I can be as invigorated as the day is long, I'll never be able to deal with screaming pre-teens before copious amounts of coffee.

Bootcamp: Monday is Fitness Test Day!

• as many sit-ups as you can do in 2 minutes
• as many squat thrusts as you can do in 1 minute
• dead hang on a monkey bar (chin above bar)
• up & down 8 flights of stairs
• run four laps around the gym

and

• The Obstacle Course (hurdles, monkey bars, walls, rope swing, walls, stomach-crawly box-thing, more monkey bars, parallel bars and rope climb)

I won't post my numbers and times here, but let's just say there's nowhere for me to go but up! Exciting!

Today was one of the toughest days I've felt in a while, but at least it sort of flew by.

Oh, Mondays!

Bootcamp: The Gloves Have Betrayed Me!

Weird day today:

• I forgot my magic sweatband and had sweat stinging my eyes for the whole hour.
  
• I hung my shirt up to dry too late last night, so it was damp when I put it in my bag this morning. It proved refreshing for the first minute-and-a-half of class before it turned into an absolute cesspool of fabric softener and sweat. But, if I'm gonna be sweaty, I guess it's nicer to smell April Fresh (or in my case, like Basil)
• And finally, after all that to-do about how wonderful my new gloves are, I managed to get blisters on my fingers above the gloves. They're half-finger gloves, the kind smoking kids in the 80s and on Bedford Ave wear. Apparently I'm going to have to employ an intricate system of band-aids as well.

But other than that and two killer trips up to and down from the 11th floor on the stairs, I feel great. Actually, I'm sure I'll feel great after I take a little nap.

Bootcamp: Beware of the Small Class

There were only four of us in the 7:30am class today. Four lonely souls, squat thrusting for their lives in between bouts of running up and down stairs. Four Warriors, with LOTS OF PERSONAL ATTENTION from Alex and Ruben.

Oddly, this is one situation in my life where I rather enjoy blending into the crowd... Actually, it might be the only such situation.

I can feel my legs cramping as I type this. The stairs are what induced my 4-5 day stint two weeks ago of walking like an 80-year old man and are a constant reminder of how much I want to live in either a) an elevator building, or b) a ranch home.

It was also Fun with Tires day, and we all know how much I LOVE those tires!* Squat presses with the tires, sit-ups in the tires, just plain old holding the tire above your head. What could be better?**

The boys also saw great benefit in sending us running up and down the stairs in between exercises today, which was good fun and good for me.***

I was also given a personal ration of shit from Ruben, who, although I'm sure he was just kidding, went to great lengths to rag on one accessory I wore today which I deemed totally and completely necessary: my orange sweatband. I used to just mop up the copious sweat from my brow with my t-shirt, but since I've sweat straight through it about 15 minutes in these past few days, I felt the need to call in reinforcements. I won't even begin to comment on the laughs he got from my bowling socks. I know it's time to bring my laundry to the laundry ladies when all I have left are the bowling socks. And besides, who doesn't love bowling!?

Hey, at least I managed to wash my shirt last night!

I'm taking tomorrow off (most likely to submerge myself in an Epsom Salt Bath all day long), and will be back on Friday, where I'm sure I'll be running up and down the stairs with tires on each arm.****

*Alex and/or Ruben, if you're reading this, I really mean it, I LOVE TIRES. Doesn't that make you want to take them away from me? Severe punishment for me would be a life without tires! ... I can see now that I'm working my way slowly into a full-blown tire workout... Eeesh.

** Oh, I don't know... maybe if I hid all the tires.

***I'm just digging myself a shallow grave with all this sarcasm. I can feel it. My poor legs can feel it. Must. Stop. Now.

****This is not even possible. I am not capable of this task and feel no need to test that fact. I'm just sayin'.

If Ever There Was a Time to Vote...

Fairly self-explanatory:

via Will
Further reading: Why I knew I liked Dennis Kucinich (via the Village Voice)

Bootcamp: Hot Hot Hot (and Sweaty!)

I was nearly late this morning (damned F train!). Actually, I was a couple of minutes late, jumping right into jumping jacks in progress. Luckily, I was not punished. Not really, at least, more than anyone else.

I don't know what insane forces made me go back just as this wretchedly hot New York summer is starting, but it's HOT AS HELL in that place. So hot, in fact, that I believe we actually were given an extra water break today!

It was a big class this morning-- like 14 or so of us. Which meant a boatload more heat floating around the room.

Good news: I bought those gloves I'd been talking about and managed to monkey my way through almost all of the monkey bars! I love you, gloves! I'm still not sold on the monkey bars, but it felt good to have made some progress.

Maybe I'll have to start hitting the 5:30 or 6:30 class to avoid the heat.

Well... who am I kidding?

Bootcamp: The Early Show

And they mean EARLY.

I woke up around 5:30 this morning to be part of a segment on the CBS Early Show with Alex, Ruben and a gang of six of us from Warrior Fitness Boot Camp.

It was really fun (even at such an early hour), and odd in all the ways live television is fun and odd. Our bit was between an interview with Kate Hudson and a special appearance by some puppies rescued from Baghdad. And at one point, we were surrounded by a children's chorus in orange tie-dyed t-shirts, all clamoring to get behind their GIANT banner.

We did just a quick little workout-- push-ups, squats and sit-ups while tossing a medicine ball to a partner (yes, we all thought we might drop the ball- literally- or get whacked in the face with it under pressure!), and Early Show co-anchor Maggie Rodriguez joined along. I have never seen anyone change out of a skirt and high heels and into workout gear faster than Maggie. It was a feat to behold.

All in all, I basically skipped working out today, since even though we worked up a sweat (as it was at least in the 80s by the time we started), this was nothing compared to a real WFBC workout.

Now that my hand has healed from a gruesome monkey bar incident on Thursday (about which I was too grossed out to blog), I'll be back in action at 730 tomorrow morning.

For any of you who may have caught the segment on CBS this morning, I apologize for my hair. We background folk didn't get invited to hair and make-up.

***UPDATE: In case you didn't catch it, video is here. Remember: we did not, I repeat DID NOT get a trip to Hair & Make-up.

(Re)Bootcamp: Day 3

I'm officially wounded.

It may be hard to tell from the photo, but I've got a blood blister on my palm that just won't quit, and calluses are setting up shop all over my hands.

Damn you, Monkey Bars! Damn you Rope I Can't Climb!!

And damn you, abs. You should look like a full-blown washboard after what I went through for you today! A washboard, damn it. Not a ... well, whatever shape it is in which you've decided to configure yourself.

I've also got a mildly nasty cut on the back of my knee from climbing the walls (that's right, climbing the walls), but that just wouldn't photograph well.


Back in 2003, I took a trapeze/aerial class. We worked in harnesses and flew around this loft attached to cables and such. I would leave there each week with bruises across my lower back that put Domestic Violence to shame. I was working out with a trainer at my old gym at the time and he definitely had the look of 'do you need me to have words with your abusive boyfriend?' on more than one occasion. No punchy boyfriend. I was just doing it for the art. It hurt like hell, but ultimately it was all worth it-- I was in the best shape of my life!

I'm having flashbacks.

I'm headed to Paragon today to buy some gloves. I guess I'm slightly too delicate to really handle all this brutality.

Drop that Popcorn, Tubby!

I have plans with some lady friends to embrace cliché tomorrow night and go see the Sex and the City movie (no comment).

We'll probably have some pre-show cocktails, but what we won't have is any popcorn!

an average large tub of movie theater popcorn – without any added butter – contains 1,283 calories and 78 grams of fat.

I remember back in the 90s when it came out that movie popcorn was as chock full of fat and calories as a Big Mac. For some reason, I believed it even though I'd never seen the actual numbers.

And now that I have... well. I'll have the Twizzlers.

via Gothamist

Bootcamp: And Thus It Begins

After hobbling around on my sadly destroyed calves since Thursday, I made a triumphant return to Bootcamp this morning.

It's official. I'm back. I've got the T-Shirt.

And a familiar cry was heard once again this morning, as it was on Thursday. Amid Round 1 of a billion push-ups, Alex shouted "LOWER, REED!" On Thursday, it was Ruben.

Guess I've got a long way to go before my chest hits the ground. Although if you think about it, I'm really there to avoid that...

I've signed up for three months, which will bring me to September. It's gonna be one long, hot summer!

Will: Weekend Warrior

Will had a very intense afternoon yesterday, as is evidenced by the amount of soaking-through-his-shirt he did.

What daredevil effort produced this deep an expression of pensive thought? What herculean feat forced this level of perspiration?








Oh, he was installing a new hard drive.












The depths one man must probe, all in a quest for more disk space and a faster-running computer. Herculean, I say!