Drama in the Sauna!

Continuing with my thesis that exercise makes you dumb I'll point out yesterday's act of stupidity. A friend of my son and daughter was over yesterday. She's an athlete, cross-country, basketball, softball. I was bemoaning my lack of push-ups and she says, kiddingly, drop and give me three. I do and on the third one I feel something tear or pull in my shoulder. Now, today, it's killing me. 

Also a further indicator of my mental decline is that I completely forgot to take my weekly medication so have to do it today - groan!

Today I got out of bed at 7:30 or 8am and was awash in lactic acid pain. I'm openly weeping in front of my wife moaning, "I don't wanna go!" She laughs at me. I know if I don't go today it will be easier not to go tomorrow. I go in.

I decide given the state of my muscles to do a light workout and try and burn off some of this lactic acid. I don't even glance at the elliptical machine and go straight for the bike. I program 'fat burner' and set it for thirty minutes. Here's the results:



It wasn't taxing and I was kinda impressed that I could just sit down and do thirty but now I'm questioning my maximum heart rate. This mystery must be solved! If my max rate is 171 then I was about where I wanted to be for this workout if it's 203 then um no.

I head for the sauna. I turn it back on, someone had been using it when I came in, set the timer for thirty minutes and the temperature to 'Rump Roast' (190F). I make certain to leave my glasses in the locker and go in to the sauna. 

I kind of dig the sauna and I'm grateful my company provides this place. I quickly grab the People magazine figuring it can't be too hot... let's get to the bottom of this Brad, Angelina, Jen nonsense once and for all! I'm thumbing through it, myopically squinting at the beautiful people. Hmmmm, Molly Cyrus is hanging out at a Walmart... how cool is that? I actually kind of dig that. Ok, lets find this Brad rubbish shall we? Suddenly the magazine is too hot to hold, AGAIN. Darn it! That was weird it went from tolerable to toasty in about a nanosecond. Discouraged I toss it back on the bench and just sit... and sweat. I'm going to have to bring in an oven mitt if I ever want to read this magazine.

I take the heat for as long as I can before I hop off the bench, grab my towel and head for the door. Grabbing the door and pulling I find it is stuck! I peer out into the locker area and no one is there. I tug again...

I'm going to die.

I'm not sure when exactly I wandered on to a James Bond set but I'm pretty sure someone has turned up the heat and jammed the door. It's getting hotter! My eyes dance about the room looking for a panic button. My myriad enemies have thought of everything, trapping me in this sweat box waiting for me to melt like so much Crisco!

I'm going to die!

I give the door a mighty tug... nothing. Maybe someone will come by and help free me from this dry hell. I beat on the glass, hoping to be heard.

The door swings open.

Oh, you push it open. 

Blush.

Stupid sauna.