My Brutal Work-Out Regimen
There are probably those among you that think somebody like me, blessed with enormous talent and startling good looks, requires very little personal maintenance other than biannual trips to the dentist and a regular supply of Rogaine. You would be wrong to think that. In fact, there is an extreme amount of effort required for me to look this effortlessly gorgeous.
For one thing, there is my cardio program, which consists of once-weekly sessions on the treadmill. This morning, for example, I ran for almost half an hour! (“Running” is obviously a subjective term. In my case it meant brisk walking. Again, “brisk” is a subjective term. As is “half an hour.” As is “treadmill.”)
If that sounds like a brutal regimen, trust me, it is. Were that all, I would still be in incredible shape. But I combine that with a daily stair-climbing workout that would put most Navy SEALs to shame. My house has two different staircases, which I traverse several times a day. Up, down, up, down, and that’s generally it. Occasionally I have been known to take some of these steps two at a time, without even pausing on the landing before ascending.
Throwing up yet? If not, try getting up with me in the morning. What time? How about eight o’clock in the morning??? Sometimes a little later, depending. And I do that four or five times a week. This is after going to bed around midnight! Try living on eight hours a night of sleep for a few weeks, then check back in with me to see if you’re surviving.
Then throw in my strength training. If you’re not weeping from the cardio, then travel with me to my home gym, which is consists of one single, sadistic piece of equipment: a ping-pong table. Granted, playing ping-pong doesn’t technically fit the definition of “strength training,” since the heaviest thing I lift during these sessions is a ping-pong paddle. But there is a lot of bending over to retrieve the ping-pong ball, which necessitates lifting my own body weight over and over and over again. Special Forces have long used the body’s own resistance as the core of their training, and I do the same thing. Yes, it’s extreme. Yes, it’s brutal. Yes, it’s the reason I look so good.
The exercise is only half the equation, though, because without a proper diet it would all be for naught. That’s why my diet is just as extreme as my work-outs. For example, breakfast this morning consisted of one slice of homemade banana bread (no butter), and a handful of Frosted Flakes straight out of the box. Plus two cups of English Breakfast tea and a Lexapro, which has no calories, but makes a shitload of seratonin. Lunch was homemade quesadillas and guacamole, followed by some vegetable crudite. EXTREME! Dinner? Perhaps the most brutal of all: chicken sausage served with penne and maybe a glass of white wine.
Why do I subject myself to this level of deprivation? Because in this game, you’ve got to stay one step ahead of the competition, and I know right now, there are hundreds of young comedians desperate to take my place in the basic cable stratosphere. They are just waiting for me to slip up, even for a second, so that they can take my place in various VH1 programs reminiscing about decades past, and assorted failed television projects. Well I’m not about to let that happen.
Which is why I will continue to rise at the crack of eight or nine o’clock in the morning and subject myself to my intense work-outs, (I didn’t even mention taking foul shots on my driveway basketball hoop this afternoon with my son) killer cardio, and miserable diet. Because if you’re going to stay on top, you’ve got to be willing to sacrifice. And also to Twitter a lot. And host fake reality shows. And maybe do some commercials for soda pop.
God, I’m such a loser.