I recently returned from Las Vegas, a city that seems determined to punish nongamblers such as myself by charging exorbitant rates for everyday items.
Among my transactions during a three-day visit: $7 for a Diet Pepsi, $8 for a Bud Light and $30 for a visit to the hotel gym. During the trip, I ran out of dental floss but neglected to replenish my supply, fearing that doing so would require an early IRA withdrawal.
The gym charge really chafed me, as I merely wanted to run on a treadmill for 45 minutes and work off a portion of the previous evening’s $60 sea bass. I had no interest in immersing myself in the marble-ringed Jacuzzi or sweating in the sauna, which I assumed was constructed from imported Tanzanian wood. My brother-in-law suggested an alternative.
“You have to try Insanity,” he said.
“Isn’t that a hot sauce?” I replied, vaguely recalling a product I cautiously applied to jambalaya in New Orleans a few years ago. Until then, I’d never seen a piece of Andouille sausage actually disintegrate.
“No, it’s a workout,” he said. “You can do it anywhere, even in your hotel room.”
“Sounds great! Can I borrow the video?”
Mistake No. 1.
Common sense dictates that middle-aged men should avoid anything labeled “Insanity,” particularly when it applies to our bodies. A workout entitled “Run, Relax, Rest, Recline” is more our speed.
Still, I found myself in my basement one afternoon, clad in shorts, a T-shirt and cross-training shoes, and staring at a laptop loaded with one of several Insanity DVDs I’d borrowed. All contained the following warning: “THERE ARE MANY FITNESS ALTERNATIVES IF YOU HAVE WEAKNESSES OR ARE PRONE TO INJURIES — BUT INSANITY IS NOT ONE OF THEM.”
A $30 treadmill session never sounded so attractive.
From there, I met Shaun T, the Insanity instructor who I assume doesn’t reveal his last name so Insanity students can’t hunt him down and physically hurt him once their muscles stop aching. Shaun continually told me I would “dig deeper” during Insanity’s 60-day program.
“Sixty days?” I thought. “I can’t even commit to a full season of ‘Mad Men.'”
Nevertheless, I fast forwarded to the Fit Test, Insanity’s initial workout. There was Shaun, flanked by Tanya and Chris, two students who looked as if they had never consumed anything bakery-related in their entire lives. With Shaun’s assistance, meaning continual screams to “STAY STRONG!”, the two of them — check that, the three of us — did “mummy kicks,” “power jacks” and “heismans,” all of which were equally foreign and painful to me. Tanya and Chris smiled throughout.
Twenty minutes later, it was over. “That wasn’t so insane,” I said aloud.
Mistake No. 2.
The following day, in a Minneapolis Doubletree hotel room, I moved to “Cardio Power and Resistance.” A more appropriate title? “Somebody Made Shaun T Angry!”
Ironically, Shaun’s class had increased fivefold, leading me to believe, falsely, that Cardio Power would somehow be easier. Instead, I struggled through, and eventually gave up on, log jumps, belt kicks and V- pushups (don’t ask). Even the class participants were screaming in agony; it was like watching a food commercial where all the actors suffer allergic reactions after consuming the product.
Bathed in sweat, I lay on the hotel room carpet, practicing the “resistance” portion of Cardio Power and Resistance as Shaun continued imploring his charges to “keep breathing.” The alternative would make for a very poor selling video, I thought.
That was enough Insanity, for the day and for my life. The next time I saw my brother in law, I surrendered the discs containing the workouts. “I may be crazy, but I’m not insane,” I said.
Then again, I DID pay seven bucks for a Diet Pepsi.
COPYRIGHT © 2013 GREG SCHWEM DISTRIBUTED BY TRIBUNE MEDIA SERVICES, INC.
