In Cold Blog
Finally, after a lifetime of waiting, I was inducted into Push-Ups Anonymous.
I shouldn't be telling you about this. The first rule of Push-UPs Anonymous is that you don't blog about Push-Ups Anonymous. The second rule: You have to do push-ups.
I was taken down to the dark, abandoned-warehouse like atmosphere of Pat and Jorge's bedroom to see three shirtless men: Pat, Jorge, and Joe. Immediately, I was stripped of my shirt and all personal belongings; to enter Push-Ups Anonymous, you must lose yourself completely in the collective conscious. Next, Pat introduced P.U.A's Secretary, Joe Sabia, who then announced my induction to the mysterious society.
The next series of events happened so fast. Suddenly, the Black-Eyed Peas "Pump It" was blasting seemingly from nowhere. Then, I was rushed to stand shoulder to shoulder in a circle with the other three P.U.Aers, take the hands of those next to me, raise them up on our sides, and lean in, as if we were doing push-ups off of eachother, except we couldn't without the literal support of the other P.U.Aers. If one of us stepped out, then we all wouldn't be able to do push-ups. The metaphor made my heart pump fiercely with pride.
Next, we nonsensically began to run back and forth from one end of the room to the other, weaving in and out of each other. I was particularly bad at this.
Without warning, we all stepped back and Pat hit the ground, furiously doing push-ups as the rest of us watched intensely and listened to Fergie. When Pat hit 100, he stood up, and tagged my hand. I had to place my hands on the rug exactly in the imprints of where Pats hands had been. I began doing push-ups.
Very soon after I began, I stopped doing push-ups.
But it was okay. My P.U.Aers were there to support me. Everybody had their turn and I supported them.
It was the most beautiful thing I have ever had the pleasure of experiencing.
I shouldn't be telling you about this. The first rule of Push-UPs Anonymous is that you don't blog about Push-Ups Anonymous. The second rule: You have to do push-ups.
I was taken down to the dark, abandoned-warehouse like atmosphere of Pat and Jorge's bedroom to see three shirtless men: Pat, Jorge, and Joe. Immediately, I was stripped of my shirt and all personal belongings; to enter Push-Ups Anonymous, you must lose yourself completely in the collective conscious. Next, Pat introduced P.U.A's Secretary, Joe Sabia, who then announced my induction to the mysterious society.
The next series of events happened so fast. Suddenly, the Black-Eyed Peas "Pump It" was blasting seemingly from nowhere. Then, I was rushed to stand shoulder to shoulder in a circle with the other three P.U.Aers, take the hands of those next to me, raise them up on our sides, and lean in, as if we were doing push-ups off of eachother, except we couldn't without the literal support of the other P.U.Aers. If one of us stepped out, then we all wouldn't be able to do push-ups. The metaphor made my heart pump fiercely with pride.
Next, we nonsensically began to run back and forth from one end of the room to the other, weaving in and out of each other. I was particularly bad at this.
Without warning, we all stepped back and Pat hit the ground, furiously doing push-ups as the rest of us watched intensely and listened to Fergie. When Pat hit 100, he stood up, and tagged my hand. I had to place my hands on the rug exactly in the imprints of where Pats hands had been. I began doing push-ups.
Very soon after I began, I stopped doing push-ups.
But it was okay. My P.U.Aers were there to support me. Everybody had their turn and I supported them.
It was the most beautiful thing I have ever had the pleasure of experiencing.
posted by PJG at 10/03/2006 08:59:00 AM
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