Hello Mark Spitz!
The house is filled with the aroma of a turkey carcass simmering in the crockpot, and I hear metal clanging as my husband repairs the backyard wind chimes. Lizzie, our Pembroke Welsh corgi is at my feet.
Jesus….I sound like Martha “Fuckin’” Stewart!
I was coming up dry for this blog entry. I, initially, toyed with the idea of taking the day off. I’ve been writing every day…it’s Labor Day weekend…I’ve been a good boy. But I was afraid that I’d find a reason to take tomorrow off and “Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow creeps in this petty pace from day to day til the last syllable of recorded time.” That’s from Shakespeare’s MACBETH. I’m pretty familiar with the play, having done two productions of it. I played Duncan (killed in Act One) and Banquo (killed in Act Three); I’m sensing a pattern here.
So, when I need some inspiration, I enjoy some edible cannabis and soak in the swimming pool, in my speedo. Now, our backyard is private, so why do I wear a swimsuit? Well…I like speedos; I always have. My husband will readily tell you that I have a huge collection of them….so, yeah, I guess I have a fetish. It probably started during the 1972 Summer Olympics with Mark Spitz with his porn stache and his tight little stars/stripes swimsuit. Hell, with his seven gold medals, everyone had a crush on him that summer, even straight boys.
And I’m feeling more comfortable wearing one (a speedo, not a straight boy!) since I dropped some weight, which I mentioned in a prior blog entry. (Why haven’t you read it?!) I do wish my gym was open. (I know, I sound so vapid! What a typical Palm Springs Gym Bunny!) Now it isn’t that I LOVE working out. Really, I hate it and want to avoid it…which is why I’ve worked with a trainer for the last several years. It really forces me to work out when I know I’m on a schedule with another person….and, at this point, I’ve invested so much time, energy and MONEY!…ya know?
I starting working with a trainer in Chicago, when I was at my heaviest. I had been cast as an older blue collar worker, and I thought the extra weight would add some additional realism. Oh, who am I kidding? It’s was winter, I was craving carbs, and there were chicken-fried steaks and tatter tots to be had. So, I was pretty plump when I hired my trainer, Mike Martiradionna. Under his guidance, I gained muscle and lost over 50 pounds. I recently reestablished contact with him via Facebook. He’s been recording some very informative videos, and most weeks he goes live and answers any questions you might have about working out and nutrition. And it’s good FREE advice! Cut and Paste the address below for his Facebook Group: Get Fit: Strategies and Support.
https://www.facebook.com/groups/mjfsupportPlus, and I hope he won’t mind me saying this, he is VERY easy on the eyes with his perpetual five o’clock shadow and his cleft chin that would shame Kirk Douglas. So…yeah…WOOF! I feel all tingly!
Oh, where was I?! Once I moved to Cathedral City, I immediately began working with my current trainer, Keith McGowan. I’ve been training with him for over 5 years, with the exception of the last few months. Now, Keith is tall (almost as tall as me), muscular, with All-American Corn-Fed Good Looks! And he trains me as though I were his age. (He’s in his twenties! Help!) So he works me hard, and I try not to cry in front of him. And I’ve told him things that I haven’t told to some of my best friends…so I get some therapy on the side. And, of course, he’s shared some of his exploits with me….which frequently leave me wondering how he hasn’t managed to kill himself. Let’s just say, that he enjoys life to its fullest.
So…really…what is this entry about?
That I should never perform in MACBETH again? (Only, if I play the lead: he dies LAST!)
That a speedo is always welcome as a present to me? (I wear a size large)
That I invariably develop crushes on my trainers? (Not really. Just really appreciate them.)
So what is the moral of all this?
The hell if I know; I’m high, remember?
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