So later today I get to drive from Edmonton to Calgary in order to teach a course, which for those who have never traveled this well-heeled slab of asphalt, is a 3 hour (depending on who’s behind the wheel) straight stretch of insomnia-curing lack of scenery and excitement, except for the occasional ass-hat like this:

…and weather that occasionally resembles this (and by occasionally, I mean 4 different locations in the same trip):

Since I’m going to be getting there at around 8 pm, and I’ve been up since quarter to 5 in the morning, I’m probably going to just unpack and lay on the bed and watch Sports Centre until I pass out. This makes working out kind of a chore, as being unconscious doesn’t get the best results most of the time.

So that leaves me with an interesting option: wake up before dawn to stroll my big ass into a foreign gym to get my swole on, wearing only the tankiest of tank tops and doing my best show-stopping exercises that will make grown men shrivel into corners and stay-at-home housewives wish their husbands and boyfriends were as cool as me, or wait until after my class, where I’m dog-ass tired, and may not be able to show off my wicked awesome skillz in the iron jungle to all the facilities trainers and figure competitors and body builders who could all think I’m super cool and smart and stuff like that. Wow, that was one long sentence. Is it wrong that when I think of run-on sentences I think of menopause? If you understand that one, you’ll be laughing, my friend.

Decisions, decisions.

Now don’t you worry, gentle readers, heavy stuff shall be hoisted. Part of this is simply the fact that if I don’t get a lift in at some point, no one else is going to do it for me. Sure, I could take the easy way out and say “Oh, I’m too busy and I just don’t feel like it, and my travel schedule is all messed up,” but that would be lame. Super lame. Besides, I can’t stay on point by missing workouts or making excuses, plus if I drive for three hours, stand and flap my gums for 8 hours, and then drive back for three hours, my spine will resemble more of a question mark than an anatomical structure.

 Working out when traveling is as much preventative for me as it is recreational, just to make sure I don’t have a slip-up that takes three months to come back from again. So I’m probably going to hit the sack early tonight, then wake up bright and chipper, pound back a little breakkie, and go get my lift on while thinking about my wedding dance moves that I’m gonna pull off the garter to. Special Hint: The song that’s going to play is “The Stroke,” and you can guess where I’m going to take this one:

That’s right, I’m taking it straight to SexyTown, folks. I’m gonna bust moves you’ve never seen before, and hopefully make this THE viral garter belt removal video of the century.

Maybe I’m getting ahead of myself, but that’s what I do. I dream big.

I Dream Big.

In short, working out is a priority for some, and a second thought for others. Those who make it a priority will always reap the benefits, and those who put it off will always complain about not hitting their goals. Obstacles come and go, but the desire to succeed will dominate every time. 

So here’s the plan of attack: While watching Sports Centre: stretch everything that’s attached to anything until it’s time for sleepies. The next morning, eat, prepare for madness, and head to the gym. I like this particular facility because they have actual lifting platforms, bumper plates, and all manner of bad-assery that most commercial facilities are sorely lacking in. I’m planning to get some good deadlifts in with little to no regard for gently setting the weights down. Plus if I grunt real loud, everyone will know where I am and have some idea of how awesome I be, and think to themselves “Wow, he’s much more powerful than I. If this was Wild Kingdom, he would get the lady zebras.” Following that, I’ll probably throw some medicine balls for distance and sprint like I’m being chased by the po-po. Once I’m able to swallow the lung I coughed up, I’ll shower, change, and teach a bitchin’ course on special populations rehab, including diabetes, hypertension, cancer, and endocrinological dysfunctions. No one knows how to party like me, baby!!!