(Warning! Reader Disappointment Alert: this article has nothing to do with how to get the Republican Party off our backs.)
As I was logging in to my account at the gym the other day, a note appeared on the screen informing me that, since I had been using the weight machines, I had lifted 9 million pounds, or the equivalent of 1,131 elephants.
I was thrilled and stunned. I quickly found Chrisie, the trainer, and asked if this was based on Asian or African elephants. She gave me a look I am sure she reserves for one of her third grade students who has just asked if dinosaurs had boobs.
I, of course, wondered what 9 million pounds would equal in chipmunks. As soon as I got home I went to AnimalWeightEquivalents.com and learned that 1 elephant=40,000 chipmunks. Thus I had hoisted a staggering 40 million of the cuddly creatures. That’s the entire population of Poland if the population happened to be chipmunks!! And probably half the amount of dead ones our cat deposited on our front porch during her reign of terror. Not that I would know this from personal experience, but it is also equal to the weight of hoisting 75,000 Snuggie-clad barmaids.
I know the trainers were just trying to boost my morale, but I wondered why they didn’t use a machinery analogy. I also learned that, since the curb weight of a Chevy Camarro is 3,769 pounds, I had lifted the equivalent of 2,400 of the sporty coupes.
Coincidentally, 9 million is also the number of pounds I have lost and regained since beginning my exercise program in 20o9, and an underestimate of the number of peanuts I can consume at one sitting when I really get on a roll.
However, I guess they went with an imposing beast analogy because they understand it appeals to something primitive in the male gym goer’s nature. In a hunter/gatherer culture, I would now qualify for membership in the Elephant Cult giving me the right to wear an elongated gourd on my penis, paint my ass blue, and lie around in a drunken stupor with the other cult members while the women gather food, build shelter and provide for the clan.
My fellow gym goers were thrilled by my achievement and several suggested I should mark the occasion by getting an elephant tattoo. My feelings were hurt, however, when one member said: "Hey, you could fit a three quarter life size representation if you put it on your stomach."
Some guys would be strutting around gym going “Is that the best you have, you lop-eared lummoxes?” I, however, remain humble in my pachyderm dominance. Though I have hoisted many a one, and while I toss them about like so many Snuggie-clad barmaids, I respect the gentle giants.
Though I am your master, Descendants of Dumbo, I raise my elongated gourd to you in a timeless salute of hunter to prey.