Big pain, little gain

I am in a world of pain.
The saying goes “No pain, no gain”, and I find myself wondering if there is a directly proportional relationship between pain and gain. If there is, I ought to wake up tomorrow morning looking like Arnold Schwarzenegger back in the 80’s.
Perhaps I should enlighten you as to what has blessed me with this ridiculous amount of hurt. You see, lately, I’ve been working out.
It’s really not my idea to be doing this in the first place. I place the blame squarely upon the shoulders of the modern medical profession for deciding that, for some reason, high cholesterol, high blood pressure, hypertension, obesity, fallen arches, cardiac arrest, diabetes, blood clots, fat deposits, and all the other billions of things that come from a lifetime of inertia are all bad for you.
Like, really bad for you.
Like, bad enough for you that they will all eventually wind up killing you.
That’s not happy news.
But how on earth can something that hurts this much be good for you? Isn’t pain your body’s way of saying “HEY, STUPID! You’re doing something you shouldn’t be doing! That’s why it hurts! How about you stop?” Cheesecake doesn’t hurt, yet cheesecake is bad for me. Cheesecake covered in hot fudge hurts even less, and apparently that’s even worse for me. Where’s the logic?
So here we find our noble hero (that’s me) defying every bit of common sense in his head and exercising.
I don’t know if you’ve ever watched me work out, but I assure you it is an occasion for giggles for everybody.
Isn’t it safe to assume that the people who are the largest are generally the ones who need to work out the most? I’m certainly among that group of “the largest”, and I’m definitely in the category of “need to work out the most”. So why is it that none of the machines in the exercise room are designed with a guy my size in mind? It’s as if they were all built to accommodate somebody who already exercised and ate right their entire life, instead of someone trying to set that plan into motion. This is similar to distributing literature on overcoming illiteracy. You’ll get your message across, but not to the people that really need to get it.
I must admit, my fitness goals are by no means goals of any noble purpose. Yeah, it’s good for my cardiovascular system and all that, but so what? I want to get ripped. I want those huge muscles like Sylvester Stallone had in Rambo III. His biceps were so big that they actually cut off the circulation to the lower part of his arms unless he held them in a certain position. And I don’t want the huge guns to attract the ladies or anything superficial like that. I want to be a superhero.
No, really.
How cool would that be? Who among you can honestly say that you would not appreciate seeing some absolutely massive dude running around the rooftops of campus, stopping the various criminal elements? I suppose if I ran around out in Searcy proper I might run into a few more opportunities to enforce truth, justice, and the American way, but I still think it’d be really neat to be the official Harding University superhero. I’d call myself “Bison”. Not “The Bison”, just “Bison”, like it was my name.
Speaking of Bison, I’d love to be strong enough to grab a Bison by the horns and wrestle it to the ground. I know it’s silly, but I think it’d be cool. And it really doesn’t serve any practical purpose, because how many people do you know who just get randomly charged by bison?
Of course, I want to be one of those people. I’d love to go up to the bison they (the Student Association) bring(s) to campus every year for homecoming and just flip out and start screaming at it, flailing my arms wildly, doing everything I can to spook it. Either that or just tear off from across campus charging it head-on, just to see if I can provoke a reaction.
I’m probably dangerous enough as it is, so it might be best that I don’t have ridiculously huge muscles just yet.
I wonder, would Bison wear a cape?
I’ve noticed that it takes a whole lot more motivation than I really have to get healthy. Being unhealthy is just so darned easy, I don’t get why it should be so much of a hassle to stop being unhealthy.
Maybe I could grow my hair out real long and make some sort of artificial horns, to really complete the “Bison” appearance. And a mask. Masks are awesome.
The weight room itself is an experiment in awkwardness. There’s a section that’s closed off sometimes so girls can work out in privacy, which is perfectly fine, but I just wish somebody would do the same thing for me. I really look like a dork on those things. Besides, I… HARK! THE BISON CALL!
Take heed, good citizens! Fear not the darkness, for Bison, your noble and hairy protector, roams the night! Away!

Aaron Rushton is the (a) humor columnist for the Bison, which gives you all the reason in the world to not take him seriously. Aaron (He) can be reached at (501)305-8453, by e-mailing AaronRushton@hotmail.com, or at campus box 14613. I have completely lost my mind.