Sometime during mid-afternoon yesterday, an idea popped into my head.

“I am going to go to bed early tonight so I can wake up at 5 AM and do a marathon workout at the gym!”

Yes, this sounded like a great idea at the time. You see, I hadn’t been able to exercise in 13 days thanks to my sister’s evil plot to call me on the phone while I was in the shower, resulting in the horrific wounding of my tailbone. Since then, I’ve only been able to swim in my pool. No jogging, no weight lifting, no horseback riding, no fraternity hazing.

However, yesterday afternoon a realization hit me.

“I am not in agonizing pain anymore,” I said to myself, out loud, confusing my gathered co-workers who were with me in a meeting.

Granted, I was in no condition to go horseback riding or participate in a hazing, but I believed I could handle a trip to the gym.

“I’m doing this,” I said, again out loud, as co-workers slowly pushed their chairs away from mine.

And so, I did.

I went to bed at 9:30 last night. I set my alarm for 5:30 AM, since 5:00 seemed too insane. By 6:00 I was awake, dressed and on my way to the gym. But not before I had gulped down a tall glass of low-fat chocolate milk mixed with a giant spoonful of whey protein.

Once at the gym, I saw that I had the place to myself. Clearly, I was smarter than my fellow gym members, who were all still asleep in their warm, comfortable beds. Those fools.

I warmed up by jogging on a treadmill for ten minutes. Then I headed over to the free weights section for about thirty minutes. Then I did some ab exercises. Then I started using some of the giant machines that I don’t know what are called. Then…

I began to feel sick.

I had been working hard for a little over an hour. I was almost finished weight lifting, but I still had cardio to do. I had to sit down because I started to feel lighted headed. Then I started to taste the chocolate milk and whey protein. Then…

I realized I probably had pushed myself way too hard on my first day back, and that if I didn’t get home as soon as possible there was a decent chance I would be soiling the gym floor.

So, I gently stood up and slowly made my way towards the exit. Then I slowly walked towards my car. Then I slowly sat down in my car. Then I did nothing for a few minutes.

You see, I was debating. If I was going to, well, become sick, I knew it would be wise not to do it while behind the wheel of my car. For one thing, I am not a fan of vomiting on myself. I never have been, never will be. That’s just how I roll.

Secondly, I didn’t want to vomit all over the inside of my car. Call me crazy, but I believe the “chick magnet” appeal of a Ford Mustang is greatly diminished when covered in someone’s breakfast.

Thirdly, I knew if I was driving when “the act” occurred, I would surely get into an auto accident. That would be bad enough, for obvious reasons. But when you also consider that I would be discovered by the policeman on the scene, the drivers and passengers of the other vehicles, etc. covered in…well, you know…let’s just say I didn’t want that to happen. Plus, you just know someone would record my plight and put in on YouTube.

After a few minutes of waiting, I decided I could make it home before anything happened. So, I turned on the ignition and drove home.

Sixty seconds later (yes, I live very close to my gym), I was in my driveway. I got out of my car, went inside my house, and washed my face with cold water. As I looked at myself in the mirror, two thoughts popped into my head.

The first thought I had, obviously, was, “goodness gracious you are a good looking man!” The second thought was, “hey…I don’t feel sick anymore!”

I was cured. I don’t know how, I don’t know why (wicked awesome immune system perhaps?), but I suddenly felt okay.

Now I had a new dilemma on my hands: Do I go back to the gym to get in my cardio workout?

In the end, common sense won out. Instead of driving back to the gym, I decided to put on my swimsuit and do some laps in my pool. And later, after showering and dressing, I had another low-fat chocolate milk with a giant spoonful of whey protein.

Why?

Because I like to live dangerously.

Thus endeth a lesson about absolutely nothing.