Or so I thought.

I’d fallen off my workout regimen since I’ve been back, what with vacation and all.  Tomorrow I start back at work so I figured it’s the perfect time to start fresh with P90X, taking measurements and pictures as directed.

Stripped down to my skivvies, Louise tapes me.  16 1/8″ neck…that’s good.  I was up around 17 1/2 at some point in the past.

Hips and waist: 39″. 

Why, that can’t be right…how can I fit into 33″ shorts with a 39″ trunk?  I know what you’re thinking: “muffin top”.  I don’t have a muffin top.  Maybe a little bumper around the bodywork, but definitely not a muffin top.

Louise claims to know the answer…”vanity sizing”, she says.  Ha.  They only do that for women’s clothes…men don’t need it, right?  Right?

Wrong.

We measured.  Three times.  My 33″ waist shorts actually are 37″ around.  I even measured the measuring tape, just to be safe.

I’m crushed.

I shouldn’t be.  As my wife helpfully pointed out, “do you really think you’re about the same size you were in high school and college?  Come on now.”

Shut up, woman.

To prove her point I dug up some old pictures of me…pictures of when I was likely to have had a 32 or 33 inch waist.  I don’t think I look like that now.  My clothes have expanded with my waistline.

Stupid clothing companies, messing with my mind.  I’m going to eat some Ben and Jerry’s…that will make it all better.

I know how that sounds.  Don’t worry, it’s just my “man period” talking (or “manstrual cycle”, to be technical).

And now, I present Mini-me.

1985: skydiving for my 21st birthday

How could I not be cool with a radio tucked inside my shirt?

1986: Field training for Air Force ROTC.

"Top Gun" had come out that year and those of us going on to the flight screening program had just been issued flight suits, and, well...shut up.

1988:  Houlihan’s to Houlihan’s, across the Golden Gate Bridge.

Please stop staring at my shorts. My thighs chafe, ok?

1992: Playing basketball while deployed to Taif, Saudi Arabia

With a shooting technique like that, you know the shot went in.

Do you like what I've done with the place?

My mood was further lifted when I arrived at work to find a large box with my name on it – my first package from home!  Inside the box was homemade chocolate chip cookies, some Easter candy, Fiber One toaster pastries (colon cleanliness is next to Godliness), magazines, an old universal remote control (we have a little TV at the weather desk – sometimes the unmanned aircraft will give us a peek at the weather…plus we have cable.  Live sports – another benefit of the night shift), and other sundries.  Even better than the cookies…letters, cards, a drawing, and photographs.

Though my fellow night shift denizens ravaged the cookies (I barely made it out with a dozen to stash in my room) I waited until I was off work to enjoy the notes and pictures, hanging some up.  It’s amazing how a few photographs really brighten up the room.

Tuesday going into Wednesday, not so great (except for a long Skype video chat with my family).  Wednesday going into Thursday – fantastic!

Until later that same day…

Australians getting ready for deployment in Afghanistan, where they'll hide out among the incredibly short giraffes

Thursday evening – time for the cross-training class led by the Australian dominatrix Julie (the one with the shorts).  Walking sleepily into the class I reach for the clipboard and…hello, wot’s this?  Julie’s been replaced by two British Army guys!  HM The Queen did just have a birthday recently (celebrated across the base) – as part of her gift are the former colonies being brought into line?

The two guys, clad in loose British Army camouflage shorts (a much different pattern from the RAAF “giraffe pajamas” camouflage) and tight shirts (no doubt my wife would approve) demonstrate the exercises.  Just as strenuous as Mistress Julie’s regimen, their drill had more push ups, ab work, and running.  A lot more…

Each participant was given a list of 10 exercises and a mat.  The instructions: perform 10 of exercise 1, run across the gym and back 3 times, perform 10 of exercise 1 followed by 10 of exercise 2, run across the gym and back 3 times, perform 10 of exercise 1 followed by 10 of exercise 2 followed by 10 of exercise 3, run across the gym and back 3 times…etc etc, all the way down the list.

The first item: press ups (Anglo-speak for push-ups).  Of course the Army’s going to lead off with press ups.  This was followed by V-ups, which is like a sit up but you lift alternate legs along with your torso on each repetition.  Apparently a  favorite of the Aussie-Brit set, Julie uses it too.  My issue with this exercise is I’m not so bendy, never have been; my “V” looks more like a curved check mark.  Since it’s still no fun doing it my lame way I must be deriving some benefit from it.

"I do 100 Bastardos a day - now get back under my rule before I make a hat out of you too!"

Other exercise list highlights: close hand press ups (hands close together), BPFA (British Personal Fitness Assessment) sit ups, crunches, this thing where you bend over, walk your hands out until you’re a plank, do a press up (what’s one more?), then walk your legs up to your hands and stand up.  And Bastardos…can’t forget about Bastardos!  They’re best described in this article  except our ending jump was a “star jump” - arms and legs outstretched.  The Bastardo is truly an exercise deserving of its name.

At the end of the hour even the fittest in the class were sweating and panting (so you know I was dying).  I never did complete my list, getting to item 9 before we ran out of time.

I left the class sweat-drenched, fatigued, and with a song stuck in my head.  During warm up and cool down the British Army blokes played “In the Army Now” by Status (pronounced “state-us”) Quo, a song that must be well known in the UK because most seemed to know it.  Here it is so you can enjoy it as much as I’ve been…over and over and over.

On the bright side, I learned that Julie was out of town and would be back.  Not that she’s any easier, except on the eyes. 

I set my alarm for 1930 to meet the guys for a 2000 spinning class.  Yep…I got up early just for the abuse.  It was a dicey proposition though – my legs still didn’t work right.  I had limited ability to lift them…putting on my shoes required both hands and the edge of the bed.

Down at the gym the guys were nowhere to be found.  Ha!  Trumped by the old guy, eh?  Fine, I’ll just work out on my own.  I wandered over to the gym (we have a gymnasium, a cardio building, and a weights building) to see if they’re in there.  They’re not, but a clipboard is thrust into my hand.  “Everyone sign in before the class starts please!”, said a pleasant (female) Australian voice.

From reading the class schedule earlier I know there’s a step aerobics class starting now, and I do see steps set up on the floor.  What could make more sense than taking a step aerobics class when I can’t lift my legs more than 6 inches?  I signed the class roster.

The good news was that it wasn’t a step aerobics class.  It was much, much worse.  It was something called “cross training” or “full body workout” or “nailing your full body to a cross”, I can’t remember exactly.

A half-ball thing.

Picture 25 stations ringing the gym, some have steps, others have either dumbbells, weighted bars, mats, and a couple of those half-ball things that require balance to stand upon.  Throw in some cones and an air horn and we’re ready for action.

Here’s the drill:  each person starts at a station, works out, and moves on when the air horn blows.  Pretty simple, except the participants determine when the air horn blows.  One of the station involves the cones – start at the base line, run to the first set of cones and back to the base line, then to the second set and back, third and back, fourth and back, twice.  The reward is getting to blow the air horn.

The class consisted of a mostly non-Americans, either British or Australian, a couple of us from the Air Force, and a woman in the Army.  We stood out in the class – U.S. service members are required to wear their service’s PT uniform while our coalition partners are free to dress any way they like within reason.  Having others not dressed like us isn’t a bad thing…it’s nice to see a female in something other than our ugly ill-fitting USAF nylon shorts.

But I digress.

Our warm up consisted of a few laps around the gym, hopping, skipping, jumping as we went.  A rather thin fellow in a purple shirt pulled up next to me and asks in a British accent, “Are you able to understand her?”, except it came out more like, “Air yah eeble to oonerstanner?”  Ironically, I didn’t understand him the first time and had to ask him to repeat himself.

“Well sure,” I laughed.  “she’s speaking english!”

“Newww she’s nought”, came his reply.  One of those types, eh?  I wasn’t about to debate the issue while panting so I just said, “you know what I mean” and continued on my way.

I thought I’d be smart and start the workout near the cones, on one of the half-ball things, to get the running out of the way early.  Cocky at first, I joined in the heckling of the runner from my plank position.  “Faster, run faster!”  It really wasn’t heckling as much as it was pleading.   It had crossed my mind that perhaps a class involving the use of my muscles wasn’t such a great idea…forming a plank with my feet on the ball and my elbows on the mat confirmed it.

After a turn on the next half ball for some squats and it was my turn to be the runner.  Conscious that everyone would suffer as long as I was running I ran as fast as I could.

At about the second set of cones I realized that if I kept that pace I was going to throw.  Lovely thought, that.  All eyes on me in the center of the gym emptying the contents of my stomach.  What’s the proper thing to do then?  Mop up and continue the class?  I sure didn’t want to be known as “that guy” so I slowed down a little.

And I cheated.

With Easter around the corner (and this being Good Friday) I must confess that I ran to the 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 3rd, and 2nd set of cones, skipping the second trip to the 4th set of cones.  Forgive me Father, for I hath joined a fitness class because of some cute shorts with an Australian accent then skipped a trip to the distant cones.  Amen.

The airhorn was mine…yes!  I picked it up and triumphantly pressed the button – only to have the horn shoot off the can.  No one mentioned the need to hold the unsecured horn.  I wasn’t the first person to make this mistake – most everyone knew to rotate stations at the sound of “pffffft clatter clatter”. 

You big dummy! Don't overdo it!

The rest of the class went much more smoothly.  The rather fit Brit in the purple shirt cheered us on – “A fine effort by our coalition partners!”  No, I’m not going to try to write that as it sounds.  By the end of class everyone was panting, the mats were like slip & slides, and I did not ralph.  Amen to that too. 

Afterwards fit Brit demonstrated his accent to me, explaining that he talks slowly for Americans.  He did have a thick accent when he spoke native, I’ll give him that.

I’m going to stick with these hard workouts - I hear the guys doing the x-treme workout (called P90X) have dropped a lot of weight and look much better in just 3 months.  I’ll do the cross-abuse class again too, and not because of the instructor.  I’ve been in a fitness rut and these new activities are a good shock to my system.

I just can’t overdo it anymore – at work after the second class of the day I had trouble getting out of my chair, I’m so sore I walk like Fred Sanford, and I’m pissing highlighter ink.  Fortunately the x-treme pilots are taking tomorrow off to go into town.

Me, I’m sleeping.  Hallelujah!