Introducing Jason Cater

Quick recap of my last few days: I’ve been cussed out by a drunk roommate for, of all things, placing a dirty dish that he left by the sink in his doorway (coincidentally, I wasn’t the culprit). Sunshine (another roommate) and I purchased 40 goldfish and gave them a new home in Brandon’s bathroom sink (shhh, don’t tell the animal activists). I spent two hours in traffic driving from a suburb in San Jose to the McAfee Coliseum in Oakland (total distance traveled: approximately 45 miles) and then was forced to pay full price ($15) for parking to see a soccer match that was already half over. I, along with three friends, also visited the Tech Museum in Downtown San Jose (making us the oldest visitors without a parental leash).

Quick synopsis of my weekend: I still don’t understand why my roommate cussed me out (and it was nice of him to apologize to me…which, naturally, he didn’t). The prank was hilarious (although it would have been funnier had we bought the hamster instead). I would like to write a letter to the San Jose Earthquakes regarding game protocol when a crowd of nearly 40,000 is expected (a cop directing traffic might have been slightly more efficient than the lights at the three intersections we crossed – the lights, lacking any capacity to judge the situation, were timed for a typical Saturday evening, only there were a few thousand extra cars on this evening). Also, charging the inevitably-late fans full price for parking even though the game is half over is ridiculous. Finally, despite the menacing glares we received from various children while waiting in line for the virtual bobsled, the museum was worth the price of admission.

Wait, what was the point of this blog? Oh yeah, fitness. I did manage a few trips to the gym over the last six days. On Friday, I pounded out 600 repetitions of abdominal exercises (which, for future reference, will become 600 reps of abs for simplicity’s sake) along with 600 jump ropes, two sets of 10 squats with a paltry 135-pounds and a routine Jason (workout buddy) and I call ‘super legs.’ Super legs are three hamstring strengthening exercises using a medicine ball. You lay flat-back on the ground, prop your heels on the ball and lift the butt off the ground for the first exercise. For the second, you place your feet on the ball and push your feet into the ball to elevate your butt off the ground. The third exercise combines the previous two – place your heels on the medicine ball then roll the ball onto your feet while lifting the butt off the ground. Seems easy, but trust me, the hammy’s will feel it.

Saturday and Sunday were off days for travel purposes. Jason and I made a last-minute trip to the Bay Area to watch the David Beckham Show (aka Major League Soccer) in San Jose, spent the night at my folks’ place in Petaluma, Calif. and then drove to San Francisco to watch the final game of the Bay Bridge Series between the A’s and Giants. After the game, we hopped in the car and watched some $40 worth of gas fly out the tailpipe en route to San Luis Obispo.

A little sluggish from all the driving, Jason and I managed a lackluster effort at the gym on Monday. Luckily it was an upper-body day, because I’m not all too keen about having bulging biceps anyway. There are plenty of guys who can brag about their upper body lifting routines at the Rec Center, but I’m the guy who laughs at the frat-boy muscle-heads who spend as much time flexing for the gym mirrors as they do thinking about their next tanning session (yes, one frat on campus has a mandatory tanning quota to meet). The typical frat boy walks around the gym with their chin pointing somewhere toward the ceiling, their chest is puffed out and their arms don’t so much swing as their shoulders do swivel. Those guys have quite the impressive upper-body physique, but do me a favor and look at their legs the next time you see one of these monstrosities – scrawny they are. A lot of frat guys I know happen to be decent human beings, but their gym behavior suggests an extreme case of narcissism as well as a touch of douchebagitis.

Today, Jason and I got back to the leg routine and actually put in some quality work. Translation: I'm in pain even while laying down. It's a wonder I decided to give this working out thing up in the first place.

Because he will be a main character in this blog, let me take this chance to introduce the man that is Mr. Jason “I Might Like Food But I Don’t” Cater. Jay is about 6 feet, 2 inches, maybe 185 pounds and intends to tryout for the Cal Poly basketball team this fall. He tried out a couple years ago, but missed the cut. Now, he’s motivated to give the Mustangs another go. I first met Jason on a basketball court. His roommate and another close friend of mine, Terrance “Oh” Grady recruited Jay for our intramural basketball team. Terrance promised me a baller and, when Jay stepped onto the court, I shot Terrance a curious look. With his loose-fitting t-shirt, his shorts that sagged enough to reveal a pair of checkered boxers and a scraggly mop of hair didn't look like a guy who narrowly missed making a Division I basketball roster. (Did I mention he was white?) Just about everybody at Cal Poly is white, but Terrance, being black, promised me a guard who nearly made the Cal Poly team. I expected, well, somebody a bit different. Nonetheless, Jay was a true baller, nailing down over 30 points, mostly from beyond the arc, in our first game. His quick release and ability to spot up from anywhere on the court were a great asset to our team. Beyond the intramural basketball court, Jason and I have become good friends.

Jason, by the way, is absolutely devastated right now. A diehard Lakers fan, tonight’s game, a 131-92 romp by the Boston Celtics, ended his team’s attempt at history. Tired as I was, the Lakers absolutely lulled me to sleep in the second quarter (not hard to do during NBA games what with all the lengthy media timeouts). I loosely affiliate myself with the Golden State Warriors so my championship dreams were flushed away several months ago (or so it seems – the NBA playoffs are gruelingly long).

In any case, time for me to shut down for the evening and jump in the hot tub. Worth noting, we don’t have a hot tub at our house (but the gated complex at De Tolosa Ranch isn’t a bad alternative…too bad our key, aka Sunshine because he was 6 foot, 6 inches and could reach over the fence to open the door, is home for the summer).