Maybe it’s because I am “husky,” maybe it’s because my blood pressure is insanely close to stroke level, but I don’t remember the last time I was cold.  Actually, I am almost always hot, or at least very warm to the touch.  Conversely, my girlfriend is always freezing.  Oftentimes, I think she may be dead, with the corpselike hands and feet she always insists on touching me with.

Unfortunately, it’s not just her; it’s every woman.  It’s an epidemic.  The only thing it can be is estrogen.  Actually, there are two other possibilities, but one could only be named if this was a medical journal, and mentioning the other would assure that no woman would ever touch me again.  So I will stick with blaming estrogen.  It is the glacier of the female body, whereas testosterone appears to be some sort of cross between lava and Spiderman’s web fluid.

I don’t blame women for being frigid…let me rephrase that: I don’t blame women for being cold by nature; I just think that you should be prepared for the icebergs that you obviously encounter everywhere.  I suggest wearing a parka…WHEREVER YOU GO!  Wear a parka, one with the little mittens tied to the sleeves.  Movies, a restaurant, the surface of the Sun…bring a heavy jacket; you know you will need it.

It has now been just under, just over, or exactly seven months (depending on when you read this) since I quit smoking.  I can still identify cigarette brands and strengths based on smell, even while in traffic, just catching a whiff on a breeze.  I have joined a gym, and I have almost stopped hating life.  I have mostly been doing treadmill, just trying to get some wind back in my sails, and I have made tremendous progress, or so I thought, until the first time I got on an elliptical trainer.

I got to the gym very early, and it was just me and a woman who was probably in her 50s.  She was on the elliptical when I got there, and after I had done 30 minutes on the treadmill, I figured I would give it a shot.  After all, how hard could it be?  She had been going for over half an hour, and had been on the phone for the last 15 minutes.

Four minutes in, I had a stitch in my side.  Two minutes later, I was huffing and puffing like I had just broken the record time for the Boston Marathon.  At the nine-minute mark, I was begging for the relief that death would surely bring.  At ten minutes, I had to quit, the woman had to help me to my car, and it looked like Matthew Modine carrying Vincent D’Onofrio during the running scene in Full Metal Jacket.

This is just a warning for all you people that have weight loss as a New Year’s resolution:  Avoid the elliptical machines like the Black Plague.