Working out for 'togetherness'

Being Frank, by Frank Ameduri

Being in a couple means togetherness. It means there's a lot more "we" than "me." It means you have to remember important things like not to leave your dirty socks on the arm of the couch and not to lick the knife and then dip it back in the peanut butter. Those are good things to remember -- whether you're in a couple or not.

That togetherness of couplehood also means that you look for ways to share important things -- like movies, books, long walks and … getting into shape. I'm getting ready to have a fitness bonding experience with my fianc/e. We're embarking upon a joint quest for healthfulness.

Now, I have to make one critical point here. Barb, my fianc/e, is a beautiful woman. She is petite and in good shape. When we go on walks, she has to give me piggy back rides the last third of the way. She's the sort of person who makes clothes look better when she puts them on. And I'm not just saying that because she's going to read this, and because she's an expert on pesticides.

Anyway, we're going to get into shape together. That's going to involve eating right and exercise of some kind.

Eating right is no problem. I just have to dust off all my old snack hiding places. I've developed some great ones over the years. You can coil licorice ropes behind electronic equipment. It looks just like important cabling. When you're feeling crafty, you can load the hot glue gun with string cheese -- it makes for great nachos, and it's also pretty good for repairing upholstery. And during a diet phase, no shower is complete without a scone-on-a-rope topped with clove honey shampoo. Now, that's good eating. Let's diet.

The exercise portion of our program is in the yet-to-be determined stage, at least for me. We took a tour of one of the local fitness centers the other night, and I'm definitely not in favor of the gym option. The first part of the tour brought us into a room with weight machines. The tour guide, who was younger, thinner and who had more hair than I, seemed perfectly comfortable to be around the machines. I found myself standing in the middle of the room and trying not to look directly at any of the devices. He stepped up to one machine with some sort of tilting back-support doohickey and all kinds of knobs and handles that weren't in the right places for a normal person's hands. "This is my favorite machine," he said. "Let me show you how it works."

I thought he was going to ask me to get on the tilty thing and start pulling on handles. I figured if my fianc/e saw me doing that, the wedding would be off. Without anything added, the machine provided something like 40 pounds of resistance, and I was pretty sure that would cause an audible rupture of an important muscle. Fortunately, he demonstrated the machine for us. "This thing makes doing squats really easy and safe," he said. I had to admit, watching him do squats was astoundingly easy and safe.

Next on the list were the free weights. The difference between free weights and machines is that free weights can fall and kill you, while a weight machine can only kill you by coronary or stroke. There was a guy doing curls with dumbbells. His arms were each the size of an average eighth grader. "That's one of our regulars," the tour guide said. "He's a cop."

I didn't hear what he said after that. I was too busy reminding myself not to speed or run any stop signs for the rest of my life.

Next up was the aerobic machines -- treadmills, bikes, rowing machines, and things like that. Our guide started prattling on about heart rates and inclines and optimum time ratios or something. The whole time I was thinking, "One of these sweaty people will likely have to perform CPR on me in the near future." Surveying the crowd, I didn't like the prospects.

In the end, we got a sheet of paper that said we'd have to take a second mortgage and sell one organ each to pay for a year's membership.

"What do you think?" Barb asked. She was full of energy, running circles around me in the parking lot.

"It's certainly worth contemplation," I said. "I have to admit, that squat machine really looks intriguing."

"I'm so glad you're excited about this, too," she said. Like I said, it's all about togetherness, and we're sticking together like string cheese from a hot glue gun on this one.

Frank Ameduri believes his fiancee, who is in far better shape than he is, will be widowed before they are married if he is forced to saddle up next to 300-pound bodybuilders and prove himself a man.