Tuesday, November 14, 2006


Do you know who the fuck I am? Apparently, I'm a fat, 30 year old, perpetually injured, out of shape gambling addict with freakish symmetry. Let me explain.

First the easy part: Gambling addict: yep - after my 3rd straight week of absolute NFL futility, which left me down 30 units for the season, I wrote the Big Show a check for my debit balance and quit cold turkey. I literally went something like 3-18 in my NFL picks the past 3 weeks, which left me so frustrated and unhappy, that I decided to do something about it.

After "quitting" sports betting earlier in the morning, I was kind enough to offer up my Monday Night Football pick for Dirty Dave and the Big Show. I warned them that, since I was no longer betting, my perfect contrary indicator status would almost certainly, due to ultimate irony, be reversed. I didn't think Carolina should be laying 10 points to anyone in the NFL, even the hapless TB Bucs. TB was a mortal lock. When I turned on the game late in the first quarter and saw TB up 7-0, I laughed. As Carolina failed to score for the rest of the half, I did a phenomenal job controlling the boiling TILT inside of me, as uber-irony was clearly in effect: the moment I quit betting, I'd be able to pick games with 80%+ accuracy. However, when I woke up and checked the final score, like EVERY other time this season I woke up to check the score on my picks, I found that I had (or would have, had I bet) lost. Carolina won 24-10. Strangely, I can't tell you how happy this made me! I was still a perfect contrary indicator! (If anyone is wondering, I, former Certified Dallas Cowboy Hater, LOVE Dallas at home vs Indy this week.)

Perpetually Injured: I was once an athlete. It's true. Back in June,2005, I suffered a violent blow to the left shin in a soccer game that left me with a welt the size of a tennis ball, and kept me out of action for almost a year. I still have a bruise on my left leg. Earlier this year, in May, 2006, I made my triumphant return to the green felt: the turf soccer field, where, late in the game I made a heroic run from fullback, getting myself open near the net, where I promptly whiffed on a cross from one of my teammates, jammed my right knee into the turf, hyperextending it, and fractured my medial tibial plateau. This injury has kept me out of action since May, and I'm just getting back into some light non-impact cardio, like the elliptical machine, which sucks ass.

Which leads us to fat and out of shape: I kinda have an excuse, since my knee is fucked up, but nothing which explains my FIRST PERCENTILE showing in a cardio test at the gym today. Let me explain: two years ago, my wife purchase a 10 pack of personal training sessions at my gym. After using four of them, she quit the gym. So now, I've finally decided to make use of the already-paid-for sessions. Today was my first - where they hook you up to a high tech machine to measure weight, body fat, flexibility, bicep strength, cardio strength, and a barrage of other health and nutrition surveys.

So my trainer takes all these measurements (pushups: 75% percentile, situps: 35% percentile, bicep strength: 78% percentile: back in the day I would have been a contender baby!), and then has me do the Vo2MAX Step Test - this is to measure the max oxygen your heart pumps through your blood. You step up and down on a 16 inch step for 3 minutes at a steady pace, and then sit down and count your pulse. He told me to count my pulse for a minute, and I came up with 125. He inputted it into the "system" and it shows: POOR. FIRST PERCENTILE. "Does that mean I'm the best?" I joked. He gave me a steely gaze. "Come on, no fuckin' WAY that's first percentile bro - there is no WAY that's as bad as it gets," but he insisted it was.

Now, Kid Dynamite is not first percentile in anything. No way. No matter how out of shape I am, not matter how hard I breathe walking up the stairs out of the subway, I'm not in the mutherfuckin' first percentile - THIS I know. So, I come home and look on the internet, and find the chart I linked to above. Said chart says to count the pulse for FIFTEEN SECONDS and input the number into the box to find the heart rate in beats per minute. It lists 125BPM as 95th percentile! I'm guessing what happened is that the trainer fucked up by having me count my actually beats in a minute, as opposed to counting 15seconds, putting that number into the machine, and having the machine do the advanced math of multiplying it by four. At least that's what I'm hoping. First percentile my ass!

Anyway, I now have a full cardio, nutritional, and workout program, which I'll be able to ignore because it will be too fuckin' cold to go to the gym, and I'm confident that the 1st %-tile reading was a fuckup. Actually, I'll try to hit it hard and become the Adonis I once was.

I do have one thing going for me: Freakish Symmetry! (actual words used by the trainer!) In the words of Bobby Bracelet: "You hear that ladies?" That's right - FREAKISH symmetry. Calves equal. Pythons equal. Proper Hip-waist ratio. Knees equal. Thighs equal. The only lack of symmetry was in my right forearm, which was 1/2 inch bigger than my left forearm. The trainer instantly diagnosed a solution to that: "Jerk off with your left hand instead."

Vegas trip is booked for Dec 8th. It looks like the forces of Kid Dynamite and WickedChops will finally collide, which will surely provide for more entertaining trip reports.

Until next time,

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Be forewarned, the bloggers meet up at Mandalay Bay on the Sunday morning of that weekend for NFL/horsey wagering.

Mind if I fade your picks? :)