SL EE STS ST ate Ae RE eas ees ~ SUNDAYS $5122 CORONA - $$2-°9 CUERVO CN et LETTITOR ’'m sticking with steroids y name is Liam, and I am desperately, desperately out of shape. The above realization is not new to me. It’s definitely always been there. But ever since I’ve been trying to reduce my out-of-shapeishness I’ve been realizing just how goddamn severe the problem has gotten. And severe it is. See, when I was a carefree teenager my body could do me no wrong. I was blessed with my father’s metabolism that was something akin to that of a hummingbird’s. I could eat anything; A&W Grandpa Burgers, pizza breakfasts, even Denny’s (although I’m pretty sure years of eating at Denny’s has put even carcinogens in my body to kill me by age 30) and I would never gain a pound. I never exercised for more than half an hour a week and I never weighed more than 120 pounds until I hit my 20s. And then I indeed hit my 20s, like a race car slamming into a brick wall. My metabolism like the rest of my body, was wrecked, and I had no spare parts, only a spare tire. It was getting bad. People I hadn’t seen since Grade 12 would come up to me and ask how I let myself go like that. Ouch. So, I decided to do something about it. I started going to a few city-owned gyms in Coquitlam and Port Coquitlam, and it felt alright. I went for a few weeks and I started to feel like I was making progress. Of course, I also feel like I’m the funniest guy on the planet. Feelings aren’t everything. I wasn’t satisfied with the progress I was making, so I decided to go to a real gym; you know, where the ‘roid monkeys, protein shake drinkers and freaky weightlifter chicks go. A real gym. I went with Ali, a friend of mine who’s really in shape. Not shrunken testicle “in shape” but just regular “in shape.” I figured if anyone could kick my ass into shape, it was him. The gym gives out free one-week trials to prospective members, and I went there to try it out. We only went for an hour. When I go to the city gyms I can usually handle two, but Ali’s routine was something else. A hellish circuit of machines and running followed by embarrassment and pain on the bench press followed by untold numbers of crunches left me battered and humbled. It was not one of the proudest moments of my life. Ali and I finished for the day and I went to speak to a manager of the place. If you go for the free week they make you sit through a presentation about membership rates. Very time share-esque. While the manager was going over rates, I suddenly started to feel really strange. Like, bad strange. Then I knew what was up: all the litres of water I drank plus the abdominal exercises I completed equals me about to vomit all over this dude’s desk and probably him too. I smiled and nodded and made the minimum amount small talk necessary to get out of the presentation with my guts intact. The only thought in my head wasn’t “Which plan is right for me?” but “Don’t puke in the office, don’t puke in the office, don’t puke in the office.” I needed to get home with a quickness. The gym in question is pretty far from my house, so I carpooled with Ali. Which led to extreme danger for the interior of Ali’s career. As we drove home, my thoughts weren’t on the car ride conversation, but were quite literally, “Don’t puke in homie’s car, don’t puke in homie’s car, don’t puke in homie’s car.” We made it home, Ali none the wiser about how close his leather interior came to being damaged permanently. I said goodbye and got ready for one more workout: a 100 metre dash straight to the toilet. As soon as I left the car I took off like a shot. It was 1936 and I was Jesse Owens. I made the sprint into the house. I jumped over a couch like it was a polyester hurdle. My inspiration for all this? A little voice in my head that told me, “Don’t puke on the carpet, don’t on the carpet, don’t puke on the carpet.” And then I hit the finish line! Liam Britten takes the gold! And then I found my release. See, I hadn’t eaten at all that day, and all I drink was a few litres of water. So there were no solids in my gullet, and all I had to evacuate was just water. I became a human watering fountain, spraying steady streams into the bowl. So that was my first day of real, hardcore exercise. Pretty gross, but there it is. And the moral of this story? Just stick with getting fat. Your friend in high fidelity, Liam Britten Editor in Chief The Other Press News Editor Pay: $400/month Report on news stories around Douglas College and the local community. Interest in college and local events and affairs a major asset. Must have strong writing ability and be able to commit time to research and interviews for stories. Send your resume to editor @theotherpress.ca.