Wednesday, December 1, 2010

Iron(ic) Gym

I impulse-bought the "Iron Gym" (as seen on TV!) at the drug store. It was incredibly easy to assemble. It still has a little play in the middle socket joint, though. No matter how much I tightened the screws, I couldn't get rid of that play. It's probably fine. There is no chance the "Iron Gym" will collapse while I'm trusting it to safely facilitate my doorway pull-ups. There's no way the molding will rip off the wall, causing me to plummet, knees-first, into my kitchen's marble threshold. I couldn't possibly get into the best shape of my life, only to cripple myself in an embarrassing home accident.

My goal with the "Iron Gym," besides getting ripped beyond recognition, is to use it regularly, forever, until it falls apart, while I'm using it. All too often, people impulse-buy these gimmicky fitness devices, use them for a month, and then forget about them, letting them turn into clutter. It's sad, really. And it won't happen to me. The "Iron Gym" will be a part of my life, in perpetuity. I already tested it out. It has an endearing wobble. I even used the "dips" function. The experience almost moved me to tears.

The "Iron Gym" is great, because it's like going to the gym, except you don't have to be around a bunch of H-phobes. I look at the "Iron Gym" dangling securely in my doorway, and I see the promise of a new me, a ripped, shredded me, using my newfound upper body strength to deftly control my wheelchair.

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