The Nerd's Eye View

Now let me start by saying that I have no pride. Or rather, I do have pride, but only about certain things. Other stuff I wrote off a long time ago, and never bother with. For instance, physical strength. Now I know, you're thinking to yourself, "But Lo Fat Mo, you're low fat! You're fit as a fiddle and a paragon of health! You're the physical apex of human history, so how can this be?" And you're right - mostly.

Last month, in a fit of bravado brought on by testosterone poisoning, I challenged one of my direct superiors at work to a push up contest. I can't tell you why I did this because I have no idea why. I had been rock climbing as part of a work outing, and that always gets me going. I was doing fairly well despite the rather long interval since my last climb, which no doubt contributed to the euphoria. So I went over to my manager and challenged him to a push up contest, mostly in jest.

aside: My manager bears an uncanny resemblance to Keifer Sutherland. The shock of blonde hair, streaked with even lighter hair. The bugging blue eyes and wispy facial hair. It's like Agent Jack Bauer is your supervisor, creeping around being pensive, armed to the teeth and hissing, "where's that TPS report?" The effect is ruined by his tendency to wear tiny black penny loafers and tuck his t-shirts into his jeans.

When he took me up on it, I was surprised, but of course I had to go through with it. Now mind you, I was hard core climbing, and he was doing the easy walls with the oversize hand holds. So I had no serious expectation of winning, that is, not until we started. I started out pretty well, surprisingly well, even. But they were fist down pushups, and I made several tactical mistakes:

1- keep my hands directing under my shoulders
2- going for speed and not smooth motion
3- neglecting the fact that I outweigh him by almost 15 pounds

All factors, mind you, for my loss. An slightly shameful loss, but not something that kept me up at night. After all I am a man of letters, a man of art, logic and razor-like wit, not some muscle-bound oaf.

So what possessed me to agree to a revisitation of self-same contest? Testosterone mixed with peer pressure, which is not my preferred cocktail, but one I seem to imbibe far too often. The person pouring me this particular brew was a certain hatchet-faced coworker who shall remain Tim-less. In passing at the end of the day, he mentioned that I was due for some derision, and when I asked why he brought up the push up contest. So of course I had to defend my honor and before I knew it I was doing push-ups in the aisle between two rows of cubicles. The first 15 were easy but after that I was huffing and puffing. I think I was holding my breath towards the end which of course wasn't helping. Thus, I was bested yet again. That's why those guys get the big bucks I guess ...

To my credit, I can both admit this whole thing happened AND brush it all off, until my time comes, and I wreak bloody revenge. They'll pay, OH YES, they'll PAY! They called me MAAAD at the University! Ahem. Um. Goodnight.