Humpin’ It Like A Gazelle

One of the perils / benefits of being associated with anyone who finds themselves in the midst of a breakup or divorce is that you find where you’ve acquired some of their stuff.  Be it a swell set of TV trays, an old PlayStation, a set of golf clubs, a slightly used ball gag, or even a TV and accompanying sound bar, the pickin’s are ripe to liberate items which have been deliberately left out of the divorce decree and custody agreement.

This morning, while minding my own damn bidness with no intention of acquiring more stuff, I found myself the proud (ahem) owner of a multi-functional clothes rack.

 

It’s multi-functional in the sense that it doubles as a Tony Little Gazelle Edge.

 

For those of you who don’t remember the 90’s, or weren’t subject to some of the dumber of the dumb ass infomercials which plagued the airwaves between shots of the infamous protein stained blue dress, Tony Little was the fitness guru of the day, and marketed his exercise equipment on infomercials and QVC (a former employer of yours truly).

 

Today’s version is Jared.  Instead of pushing Subway sandwiches, Tony had a stupid pony tail, intense behavior (which leads me to believe maybe PED’s were involved), and a line of glider-like elliptical machines.

 

Ok, fine.  I have a gazelle now.  That’s just one more thing to include in my cavernous garage where I store generally everything.

Pano Garage

Why not do something with it?

 

Today was one of those days where I didn’t get to the gym.  I was too busy getting my 7 year old nephew getting strung out on caffeinated beverages at Starbucks while showing him how to play chess.  I had plenty of other things to do as well, most notably acquiring a multi-functional clothes rack.

 

Tonight, I decided to set it up in the living room in front of the TV.  It made the dogs a little nervous.

 

I put a live concert video of my favorite band on the DVD player (yes, some people still use this format), donned some workout gear and started humpin’ (not as dirty as it sounds) it on that glorified clothes rack.

 

Red BlueOn a side note, let’s discuss the workout gear.  I was wearing a bright blue tank top which is pretty good at showing off the freckled thunder that are my biceps.  I was also wearing a pair of shorts in the shade of red best described by Juniorette as that of a pretentious race car driver.  The color combination had the Superman thing going for it.  All I needed was a bitchin’ pair of red boots and a spit-curl.

 

So I started humpin’ away (again, not as dirty as it sounds) on the thing.  There are not electronics on this thing, so I pretty much had to guesstimate on whether I was going to get at least 15 minutes in on it.

 

I found it to be less than graceful, all in all.  That’s pretty ironic for a device named after a varmint in the circle of life known for its grace.  A lot of the movements were herky-jerky (technical term) because it didn’t seem to match my stride like the elliptical machines I use at the gym.  Lord and the rest of the internet knows the lack of grace couldn’t have been attributable to the fat guy humpin’ it (seriously people, it’s not as dirty as it sounds) on the blasted thing.

 

None the less, I found benefit in it.  I burned 20 minutes on it before I even realized I had hit 15.  I felt it in different muscles than I normally do.  I was able to sing along with the concert video without fellow gym members looking at me all weird.

 

Granted, the dogs stared at me as if I had cut the cheese more intensely than they ever could.

 

What’s more, I’ve been looking for a way to intensify my workouts lately because I’m right smack dab in the middle of a weight loss plateau where I’ve been in a holding pattern since late October.  This glorified clothing rack may be just the ticket to assist with that endeavor.

 

Poundin’ Down, Y’all.

 

Randy Tharp

TharpSter is a husband to one woman, a father to two kids, a master to two dogs, an occasional cubical occupant, and unable to make up his mind on an adequate theme for this website.

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