"Oh my God, I'm going to puke" and other thoughts during my first real workout.

I swear, when I decided to make a protein rich sandwich an hour before going to the gym, I thought it was a good decision. One hour and twenty minutes later, as I was jogging up the flight of stairs, down the hall, down and up the other stairs, down the hall, down the first stairs (rinsing & repeating 3 times), my stomach informed me that it was not. For those of you with weak, girly stomachs, don't worry.

I've been monitoring my caloric intake for over a week now, and finally am able to start working out at the gym. I know that my physical condition has been far from peak for some time now, but I was ready to push myself. The nice thing about most gym memberships (I went with Bally's, though it was because my friends went there, not because they have any edge over the competition) is that they always give you one session with an actual trainer. My trainer is a level 5, which means that they are at the top of their game. Nicole, one of my two gym buddies, had this guy before, and she puked. Feeling the need to display my superiority, I resolved to not allow such a thing to happen to me.

To start off, I needed to do ten minutes of cardio - piece of cake. I decided to try out one of those elliptical machines because a) they're made by a local company and b) it was the only machine open. I stepped on the machine and began to perform the "natural" movements.

Thought #1: Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Holy cOW, my kneeOW. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow.

Last September, I decided to dance with my sister, Sarah, on her wedding day. The song was the theme to The Bodyguard, and the free DJ she had decided that she could sing it better than Whitney Houston (she was wrong). Sarah and I were hamming it up a bit, spinning, extending arms, and whatnot. I came up with a great idea; "Sarah, you should dip me. It will be hilarious!" And so the climax of the song came. "I will always love YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUU." I leaned back, accepting the dip. My knee started to practice for a hula-hoop competition, and my ACL called it quits. I'd like to say it was a graceful fall to the floor. Heck, I'd even like to say it was a comical one. However, as the wedding video footage shows, it was just plain awkward.

I never got it looked at. I have been proud to proclaim that I am a practitioner of the "walk it off, rub dirt on it" school of thought (why yes, yes I am an idiot). So when my knee met the low impact motions of the elliptical machine, it hurt.

All right, ten minutes down. Knee hurt a little but I'm feeling good ("I'm the boss, I'm the boss, I'm the boss"). Next up, weight lifting. "Hoowah!" the free weight benches were all used up, so we used a machine that works the pecks. For your information, I completed all twelve reps, thank you. Then we grabbed some dumbbells, I leaned against a wall (which has a window right at butt crack level) and I did some other lifting. Ten reps - tough, but I did it (and I think I spared the guys in the office from any peep shows). Okay, that was tough, but you need it to be tough in order to tear down muscles.

"Okay," says the trainer, "here's what I want you to do. Jog up these stairs, down the hallway, down the stairs, and back. Three sets." I was feeling manly, so I thought, "no sweat." As I started to ascend the second set of stairs, I found said sweat (though my legs lost the will to function). I was only on my second set and was doing the pathetic fat guy "I'm dying" 1/4 jog. Suddenly, I tasted something odd in the back of my mouth. Why, it was a light mixture of Lars' Spicy Swedish mustard, egg white, and cucumbers. Sound pretty good? Well, it's not so tempting during a death jog.

Thought # 2: Oh my God, I'm going to puke. What is that taste? Dan, why did you eat before working out? Bad idea.

Eight minutes later, I finished my two-minute "jog." Then it was right back to the weight lifting. "Hoo, hoo, hoo, hwah." Midway through my first set of reps, the nausea grew, and grew, then subsided, then grew again. I needed to sit down for a minute, or three. But I came here to push myself (cue triumphant music). I stood up, leaned against the wall, grabbed those weights, and had the sudden urge to go to the bathroom.

Thought #3: Are you kidding? Dan, you gotta get back out there. Don't let this guy down.

Five minutes later, I returned (cue family sitcom version of triumphant music). I leaned against the wall, grabbed my weights, and did my reps. "Good," says the trainer. "Now do two sets of the stair thing. You don't have to run the whole time. Try to split it up." My fat guy death jog became a fat guy death foot drag. As I was descending the second set of stairs on my second set of "jogging," I must have looked bad. One of the other gym members looked up, smiled (1/2 pity 1/2 encouraging), and asked, "How are you holding up?" "I'm holding," I replied. "Well keep it up, you're doing great," he added as he walked on and I turned to go back up the stairs. Amazingly, a slight bounce returned to my step.

Thought#4: Ha. It actually does help.

Without getting too emotional, I'll just say that those comments made me feel like I belong here at the gym. I may very well be the fattest guy on the workout floor (at least at that exact time). I may be unable to jog up and down stairs without tasting remnants of a protein rich sandwich. I may be the only person in history to swear off the elliptical trainer. I may be all of these, but I belong here.

Fitness trainers are not allowed to be negative during the complimentary first session, so I'll say it. I failed my first exercise routine. To quote Homer Simpson, I was "one of the suckiest sucks to ever suck." But I'm okay with that. Nowhere to go but up.