after eight months i'm back at the gym. i had forgotten the odd way my joints creak under serious pressure. and the sharp pinch of lactic acid. there are anatomical charts on the walls of the weight room, and today i could pick out every color-coded muscle by its unique shade of pain. i came to consider the possibility that exercise could make me sick. a feverish, headachy feeling. being healthy shouldn't make you feel like you need a stiff drink.
this coupled with the fact that i don't actually work all that hard. i rarely push my muscles to the point where they give out from the strain, the way the grunting men around me seem to. i haven't made a single twisted face, or wheezed unattractively, or got red in the face. maybe part of the manliness of working out is that you stagger out of the gym afterwards, without stretching, and stoically mask the burning feeling that crawls underneath the skin of your arms the whole next day. manliness redefined: not heroism, a war of attrition.
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