By Larry Flesler, Special Get Fit Series

My upper body is starting to recover from my recent workouts.  My left cornea still has some damage from Van’s talon-like finger nails and I have some nasty looking scabs but I’m otherwise healthy so it’s time for some cardio.

I’ll be honest, I don’t like cardio.  I find it boring.  I can’t just walk on a treadmill or ride a stationary bike for 30 or 40 minutes without going completely insane.  My good pal Van suggested that we join some kind of a themed-workout group to keep our interest.  He grabbed the yellow pages and looked for a Jane Fonda or Jack Lalanne type workout group.  To our surprise we could not find one but he did find an interesting place called “Jazzercize.”  He gave them a call and they encouraged us to stop in and check the place out.

Van splashed on some Hi Karate and threw on a pair of shorts and a muscle shirt.  “Why are you getting dressed in workout gear, I thought we were just going to check it out?” I asked.  “If I’m going to get any action tonight I’ve gotta show off the goods,” said Van.  He then put on some really thick socks that bunched up around the top of his Chuck Taylor high-tops.  He also sported a headband and two wrist bands.

We decided to stop at the Scotch and Sirloin on the way to grab a quick salad.  We grabbed a table and a waitress came right over to take our order.  I ordered the house salad and a tap water as I was trying to be mindful of my diet.  Van ordered the Sirloin Tips covered in mushrooms, onions and gravy with a “Clams Casino” appetizer and a Southern Comfort Manhattan.  Van is a slow chewer and insisted on ordering three more drinks so we were there for quite a while.

Van kept saying that I would not lose any weight at the glorified dance class called “Jazzercise” and got up from the table to show me what type of moves I should expect to be doing while paying a steep membership fee.  It was quite a scene for the lunch crowd as Van kept doing moves like the Cha-Cha, a strange Salsa-like number that had him bent over backwards in my lap and even included an attempt at break dancing. We were there for about an hour.  By now Van had had about six Manhattan’s and was starting to slur his words.

Van then visited the other diners asking them if they wanted to arm wrestle. To my surprise someone took him up on his offer.

An elderly obese woman agreed, rolled up her sleeve and off they went.  She won easily and nearly snapped his arm in two.  Van screamed that she cheated, then tried to smash a ketchup bottle over her head but swung wildly, missed and fell to the floor.  The bottle must have smashed under him as he had ketchup all over him.  I was helping him up when he noticed the ketchup stains.  Van started weeping and whispered to me, “I’m dying.  Tell your Wife I love her.”

Needless to say I was a little embarrassed and wanted to get the hell out of there.  I grabbed a handful of twenty dollar bills from my money clip, tossed them to the bartender and made a smooth exit.

Next week: Legs.