Workout

(Or: How Mladen started became aware of muscles he never knew were there...)


Being that I've been warned (on several occasions) about writing too much about things (some called it fashion, which makes it even worse), I'll write about non-things today.


Well, sort of. We're all things after all.


So, I went online and checked some videos about "home back workout". I'm this Quasimodo type and I've been telling myself (almost as much as other did - and do) I really need to work out a bit. There's really nothing tangible to hold my spine.


Not to mention my sitting customs - or people's reactions when they look at me - sitting on my back more than actually sitting on my butt. It's weird, but it's comfortable. And if it's comfortable, it definitely can't be good. Right?


So I click this video and there's an American guy (doh!) who's doing some exercises in his room. It's messier than mine, so that makes me grin. Nevertheless, the grin rapidly dissolves when I see a) his figure - fit but not all muscles, 4) the exercises he does - I managed to catch his every fourth or fifth move, and m) the amount of energy it's going to take to do all of that.


I did a set yesterday (well, sets of five instead of fifteen, but I'm taking small steps) and I feel it all around. Even my buttocks hurt! And no, it's not funny.


This guy wraps cinder blocks in T-shirts and waves them around like packs of handkerchiefs. The only thing I could find was a five-litre wine bottle, which I used as my pick-up-and-try-to-move-around thing.


True story.

If someone who works out for real saw me, I'd probably end up smacked on the head.

I did another set today, which was even harder from all the muscle pain (or, as we call it in Croatia - using a wonderful German word - muskulfieber), but I managed to do some in the end. The last one is always the hardcorest and it totally killed me. Not even being allowed to lean back helped!


Sitting on my chair (yes, on - I was in too much pain to sit in it), my hands were trembling and I was feeling weak like hell. Through gritted teeth I could only let out some CO molecules before I chucked down a banana and some cookies for energy.


Yeah, energy.


It'll surely do me good - well, if I keep it up, at least. But I really need to. I should take some photos from before and after (in two years or so), when I'm all fit and straight-backed and lean and slender and God knows what.


And tanned, of course. More like barbecued, but yeah. You get the picture.


Or hopefully not.


(This is what happens when you start writing at two in the night.)