SHANE BROWN:

Oct 06, 2023

Thanks to my doctor-ordered new life as a healthy person, I have officially become a gym rat -- except it's less of a gym and more like a structured cardiac rehabilitation program at the hospital. I've never spent quality time in a proper gym, but I reckon it's pretty similar. Multiple times a week, I get to roll in, exercise for an hour, and try my best to avoid the legions of hotties who now want to check out my buff new form.

Okay, maybe the last part hasn't happened yet, but I'm not saying it couldn't. I've been at it for a couple weeks now, and I've already lost a respectable chunk of weight. I had to go buy a new belt -- and I'm already down to the last hole on THAT one. I'm a heck of a long way from being a skinny head-turner, but I honestly feel pretty good about my progress thus far.

The rehab program has a host of different exercise machines, but I've been focusing mainly on three.

The first is a seated elliptical exerciser that I lovingly call the Crotchenator 2000. I'm not exactly sure which specific muscles its meant to work out, but it kinda feels like its primary mission is to stretch portions of the human anatomy that are best left unstretched. It works your arms and legs, but it feels like your legs come up WAY higher than necessary. I kinda hated it at first, but it might be my favorite machine there.

From the Crotchenator, I usually move to the Arm Death-o-matic. It looks like an escapee from the 1950s, complete with weird clicks and clacks, like a mid-century modern torture device or something. It's a tabletop machine that's little more than a set of bike pedals, except you pedal with your hands instead of your feet. For the first couple minutes, it's kinda fun. For the other 18, it's borderline inhumane. My arm muscles (I have those?) start crying out, my face gets flushed, and sweat drips from my every pore. If the goal of exercising is to look fit and handsome, I'm pretty sure this machine does the opposite, because I look like a wreck when I'm through. But anything that feels this unpleasant MUST be fantastic for you, so viva torture, I guess.

After all that, I've been ending my sessions with a brisk walk on the treadmill. I like the treadmills they have there, because they're big and comfy and have massive arm railings that feel like safety overkill. Plus, you get to put a little safety clip on your shirt to ensure that if you pass out and go flying off the back of the machine, at least it will shut itself off as you're hurtling towards your doom. This is good, because I'd hate for my death to needlessly waste electricity. Also, I've found that I get weird vertigo and a touch of motion sickness while on the treadmill, which is honestly the exact distraction I need to take my mind off how much I hate power walking.

With every session, I've been adding more and more resistance to the machines, and I've actually noticed the results. I've got more strength in my arms than I've had in a long time. I feel a little lighter on my feet. This past weekend, I went to the suburbs and spent the afternoon wandering around Ikea without my feet aching. Maybe there's something to this exercise stuff after all.

I just can't get cocky about it.

In full disclosure, I actually do own a pretty nice exercise bike in my basement that I bought years ago on a whim. It's gotten a ton of use over the years -- as a very expensive clothes hanger. But this weekend, I took those clothes down and decided it was high time to put that thing to work.

I was doing a load of laundry at the time, so while I was waiting for the dryer, I figured I might as well pedal a few calories away. I plugged the machine in and it sprang to life, asking me to select a setting. The dryer had about 20 minutes to go, so I chose a setting called "20 Minute Quick Calorie Burn."

The first "lap" was pleasant, with about one minute on resistance level 3. But after that one minute, the resistance jumped from a comfortable 3 to a challenging 7. Another minute later, it ramped up to a 9 before shifting to resistance level 11. I didn't even known there WAS a level 11. I thought it maxed out at 10. Almost instantly, I was sweating through my clothes and pushing things WAY too hard. After that, it backed down, but only to level 7 before climbing again. By the second time it reached level 11, I was wheezing and realized my fragile heart was beating out of my chest, so I packed it in. One ambulance ride this summer was quite sufficient, thanks.

So I don't think I need worry about turning into King of the Jocks quite yet. I'm seeing improvement, but I guess it's baby steps. Let's be honest, there are probably babies out there in better shape than me right now. My workouts are helping, but my "20 Minute Quick Calorie Burn" was more like "9 Minutes of Agony and Almost-Vomiting." I'm not quitting, though. In fact, I'm heading to the basement now for some polite Level 3 pleasure cycling. If this column makes it to press, assume that I survived.

Shane Brown

Shane Brown writes for the Dispatch-Argus and Quad-City Times. Contact him at [email protected].

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