Yesterday marked the financial start of March Madness for me, as I was introduced to my first gambling event of the season. It was a bidding format where you spend probably $1 for a 16 seed, and up to $150 for a #1 seed like Duke or Ohio State. But mainly, the point of this dude-brah event was to get shit-housed. Drinks before, during, and afterward. A shot taken every time a #1 seed comes up for bidding. Four hours into this smoky, aggressive binge, I was simultaneously pounding pizza, vodka, and delicious chocolate cake into my mouth while spending $80 on Florida.
Seriously, this cake was the SHIT.
The event ended around 9PM, so by 9:30 I was home, shedding my jeans and sweatshirt, and pulling up my mesh shorts. Yes, apparently 10-12 drinks is the perfect warm-up for a rigorous at-home workout. To clarify, I'm doing an "at-home DVD workout program", and I am pretty good about staying on schedule with it. So I knew I would feel awful the next day and not wake up to exercise. But I ALSO knew that I felt absolutely fucking awesome at that exact moment. I would've taken on a bear in a fight IF ... his nails were clipped.
So the obvious solution was to start the workout right then and there while the motivation was with me.
Within 15 minutes, I was swerving all over my bedroom. Backwards leg lunges while holding weights? Riiiiiight. But the worst part came during the push-ups, which when you are supremely wasted should be called "throw-ups", because that is what I was striving to avoid the whole time. Push up, fight back chunks, push down. REPEAT.
Well, after an hour the routine was done so I cooked up some chicken that I'd been meaning to cook. Again, it's all about the natural flow of a Sunday. And that's when I called someone and told them what I'd been up to.
"No," she said. "You couldn't have done a very good job with that."
"I assure you, I did. Flawless workout. I feel great!"
Then something weird happened. After we got off the phone and I showered, I started thinking back on my workout. And there were holes. In fact, I couldn't remember doing ... any ... of the third circuit of my workout. I stumbled up and put the DVD back in the player, and pressed play. I fast-forwarded to the end. I've seen these moves many times before, but I could not for the life of me recall whether I'd actually done them just an hour ago.
"But," I reasoned in my own head, "it's a full workout. It plays on the TV. I've never stopped one before, and I very adamantly told someone that I incredibly successfully completed this workout. Plus there's a whole second part of the workout that requires me to go to the Main Menu and push 'play.' And I do remember finishing that whole portion, which I wouldn't have done unless I had completed the first part."
I pondered this for a good 5 to 35 minutes before coming to the only real conclusion that made sense. I got home from a day of binge drinking and completed a blackout workout. I fully blacked out for the last 10 minutes of the first video of this workout routine. I remember most of it. I remember telling someone that I did all of it. And I remember having that conversation. But for the life of me, I cannot recall those 10 minutes of sweating in my bedroom.
Once, about 4 years ago, in the twilight of my youth, I went to Opening Day at Yankee Stadium. I called in sick. It was a glorious day and I had around 7-10 beers. When I got home that afternoon, I ran 10 miles. That day had nothing on this.
So I leave you with this: You can do anything if you put your mind to it, but that doesn't always mean it's a good idea....
... but this one was... I think... but my leg hurts... fuck my life.
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