I Work Out With Hilary Duff

I worked out with Hilary Duff today.

She danced in front of me singing her hit song, "Wake Up" as I did dumbell curls.

Hilary and I, sharing a moment. It was thrilling.


It got more bizarre. Hillary left and was replaced by Sheryl Crow. She strummed along to her break-out single "All I Wanna Do" as I grunted through bench presses.

All I wanna do
Is pump my guns
I got a feeling
We're not the only ones . . .

Ugh. It was actually horrid. Truth be told, I did not work out with Hilary and Sheryl. Not literally, of course.

You see, the gym where I work out has installed 13 new television sets above the free weights. As a result, I now lift weights as the most wretched music videos of all time are being slammed into my face.

The gym, once my place of salvation and safety, a place I could go to play basketball and work out and escape from the world, has been infested. It is oozing with televisions. And my life now suffers because of it.

Who decided that I needed to watch music videos while working out? Was someone doing lat presses one day and said:

“You know what, Gene? It would be fucking awesome if I could work out while watching TLC’s 'Waterfalls' video.”

And then Gene responded with: “Yes, Garry. It would be completely badass if someone played the video for 'Walk Away' by Kelly Clarkson while I shocked my deltoids.”

I know the rationale. My gym is huge and makes way too much fucking money, so they tried to enhance the “image” of the gym with flash and dash. When people take the free tour, they will subconsciously feel comfortable because TV is around. Humans have been conditioned that way.

It still doesn’t change the fact that I have to work out to Alanis Morissette’s “You Oughta Know” video.

Strangely, this new dynamic actually helps the workout along. As I’m lifting and listening to Hilary Duff sing lyrics she didn’t write to music someone else wrote, I’m getting angry. I’m getting angry at her and TV and this propels me through several more sets.

In rare instances, one rocking song like “Even Flow” by Pearl Jam or “Show Me How to Live” by Audioslave will come on. Even that turns tragic.

At some point the song will climax and I get into a rhythm. It’s me, the weights and the music in a big giant orgy. Suddenly, without warning, the sound is abruptly muted and a woman yells this over the PA: “Jim Rivers. Jim Rivers or any other member of our training team, please report to the front desk. Jim Rivers or any other member of our training team, please report to the front desk.”

SHUT UP!!!! Fuck. The announcement is incredibly drawn out and long-winded. When the woman is done making her announcement, the music cuts back in and Dave Ambrusezze is completing the ending of the song by destroying his snare.

Fuck Jim Rivers.