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Just Do It

They pump their bodies with grim determination.

Hard labor and inspired hormones. Diets optimized through professional intervention. Trainers expert in the chemistry of lean architecture. The human form. Pills, shakes, powders, injections; natural herbs and synthetic wonder molecules. Water with more oxygen than water itself. There are methods. There are numerous methods tried and true. And the machines. Ergonomically correct. Designed for comfort in distress. The latest developments in physical physics, the use of electric power for tension and torsion. Maximum results.

They will stay firm and young forever. Ubiquitous “fitness consultants” oversee their trials.

Male and female forms stretched, flexed, pressed and pulled side by side. Musk of pheromone and torment. Pure mist of ideal.

“Faith, purity of mind, strength of will,” say the trainers. “Lean, raw food. Clean digestion. Work it. Pump it. Work it out. Pump it out.”

They run on treadmills, pedal stationary bikes.

Huge overhead monitors blast music videos and the War into their sweating heads. Do they imagine themselves in those jets, roaring over the Enemy of the Nation, dropping bombs on its demon progeny? Hear and see the War thrum to the beat of hippy-happy-hoppy tunes. Sex and Death set to digital post-pop pop provoke intense work-outs. They leave their anguished forms to soar with planes and scream raw lust at dancing, cheering crowds.

“We love you, [your name here], we LOVE you!”

Zip! Whoosh! Kaboom. Kaboom. Kaboom!

They bare tamed bodies in thin shorts or conceal wayward fat under baggy sweats.

To log regular hours at the Health Club is to have one’s insurance premiums reduced. And of course it is good for overall productivity if the workers and executives are allowed to live with the jets and pop stars for an hour each day — to leave the cold, onion sweat of the cubicle for steamy muscle action.

Each in his own infinite mental space, soaring, pumping, cycling with the sexy siren-icons and grooving to the War.

Do it, America. Just do it.

ADAM ENGEL is in BETTER SHAPE than the President of the United States. He’ll challenge George to a bench-pressing/treadmill running / pretzel-eating contest any day of the week. He can be reached at asengel@attglobal.net when he’s not at the gym or buying.