This guy recently wrote about his need for sweat. I’ve been getting physical my own bad self, even though I hate gyms with the passion and vigor I generally reserve for inconsiderate houseguests.

But, out here in the Left, there’s just not all the same opportunities for strolling as there were near my Cambridge condo. And the lifestyle change back to a cushy office job has made cushy an apt term for my ass and gut. A Lot more dee-rob to love and all, but too squishy for me to stand.

Unlike the weblog post linked to above, I think I might stick to the gym for a bit simply because of sheer access. Each evening, in order to get my car out of the parking garage in my swanky workplace, I have to walk directly by the on-site, up-to-date, almost always empty and absolutely free gym. No money and no effort getting there removes a couple of key rationalizing obstacles.

The real downside is M. and I are becoming such a cutesy, cliched couple, I drool a little vomit down my front whenever we pass a reflective surface. He’s been training for a half-marathon in the fall, and I’ve started on my little fitness regimen, so we regroup in sweats after work, looking all action Barbie and Ken. (A homeless guy even told us we were a good looking couple.)

The other downside is I had to face my New England reserve and sense of hierarchy, here in the Wild West where those rules apparently don’t apply. I ended up in the women’s locker room trying to adopt a stance, body language and facial expression appropriate to a casual chat with the shirtless VP. (By the way, the ivory towers of East Coast academe seem so fucking oppressive and ridiculous in their absolute love of hierarchy and keeping your place. You never no how much you’re being fucked with until the fucking stops.)

Apart from chatting with a semi-clad executive, this place continues to seem unlike a real office and more like a TV show office. The other day, I walked into the president’s office with a letter that needed signing. I was greeted warmly as he showed me his computer screen and asked me if I ever read The Onion, as he had been doing at just that moment.