The Fifth Horseman

      It's definitely a sign of the End Times. Something so unexpected and unprecedented that you just know earthquakes and floods will follow, dogs will go mad, and Republicans will actually balance a budget. What is this astonishing and traumatic event? I signed up for a gym membership!
      Yes, that's right. The guy who has been so sedentary that his knees grew together, who can't wear corduroy because the friction might start forest fires, who has his own zip code -- yes, that guy has joined a gym.
      Of course, they don't call it a gym anymore. It's called a "fitness center." The difference between the two is obvious: One is filled with torture machines to which people offer their tender bodies; the other is filled with torture machines to which people offer their tender bodies as they sip expensive designer label water. It's a difference of atmosphere.
      Not that both places don't both smell the same, because they do. That peculiar odor of gym socks and sweat just doesn't go away no matter how many gallons of lilac-scented air-freshener you spray.
      This fitness center is a new one. It has all the latest expensive machines. They're frankly a bit scary with all those gears and electronics. Somewhere a mad scientist is missing several of his robots.
      The electronics monitor your heartbeat, the rate of your breathing and your bank balance. Should something terrible happen -- like you have a seizure or your check for the monthly gym fee bounces -- highly trained professionals will immediately rush to you and throw your sorry self out of the building.
      Around the outside of the gym, they have a walking track. It's cushioned, which gives your step that youthful spring and protects your joints, particularly your knees. I'm going to appreciate that cushioning after a few times around the track. It's going to keep me from cracking open my head when I collapse.
      To give the impression that everyone is having fun despite their agonized faces, the gym plays lively, loud music. It's to keep your pulse pounding and encourage you to work harder. It also drowns out the shrieks of pain as people discover that their bodies really don't bend that way.
      Besides the exercise machines and the walking track, they have old-fashioned weights. Naturally everyone using the weights looked like normal, flabby people, except for that one guy who was supremely fit, every muscle clearly defined as he lifted 250 pounds to impress the admiring and giggling gym groupies. Of course, I'm not jealous of the poor dolt. It was obvious he wasn't very bright. I don't know how he's able to keep his job as a nuclear physicist.
      They also offer aerobics classes for people who don't want to wait for that heart attack and a swimming pool where they offer water aerobics for those who would rather quietly drown after their heart attack than be bothered by those pesky EMS technicians. They also offer lap swimming. If you're unfamiliar with that term, lap swimming is where you -- and I do mean you since I'm certainly not going to do it -- swim from one side of the pool to the other side and then back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, never getting anywhere. That's an excellent metaphor for every session of Congress.
      Now, don't think I'm going into this with the wrong attitude. I'm not expecting to become a movie star. I'd just like it to help me get into shape. Well, a different shape than the spherical one I have now. And I have been told that after a few months of exercise, I will even begin to enjoy it and look forward to my workout. But I tell you now if that happens, it really will be the end of the world because the Fifth Horseman is Exercise.