05.21.08 Redneck Neighbor Versus The Cuban Assassin

Something about two guys riding to a work-out facility together in a mini-van didn’t sit well with Redneck Neighbor (I’m linking but a warning: he’s not blogging much these days).  So we took his work truck to the gym instead.

I didn’t ask Redneck Neighbor to join me last night.  Becky might have - I don’t know - but I did not.  I would not introduce someone I like to The Cuban Assassin.  A radio programmer who refuses to play my music?  Perhaps.  An ex-girlfriend who stole my Nirvana CD in high school?  Likely.  Every critic who said Iron Man was a great movie?  Definitely.  But not Redneck Neighbor.

This man loans me his lawnmower.  His kids spend the night at our house.  His trampoline is the place our kids make most of their outside memories these days.  His wife makes the best fried everything - and alfredo sauce and banana bread - and shares it with us.  He’s taught my son how to run with a football and take a tackle.  He’s the guy my wife is most likely to call if something important breaks when I’m out of town.  He’s good people.

But I’m glad he came along. For purely selfish reasons I’m glad he came along.

Redneck Neighbor is younger than me, you see, by several years.  He is stronger than me: Owns his own set of work-out machines and even uses them from time to time, plays softball, multiple pairs of shorts hang in his closet, he has calf muscles.  He is tougher than me: Been through real boot camp, served in the first Gulf war, shoots living things with a bow and arrow for fun. tells his kids to “suck it up” when they face plow down the driveway.  So, I figured, Redneck Neighbor will be a better gauge than I of just how tough (or not tough) The Cuban Assassin’s class really is.  I mean, if a sissy-boy singer guy spews fish tacos it doesn’t necessarily indicate to all that the work-out is difficult now does it?

At one point last night, while Redneck Neighbor was doing some twisted variation on push-ups, I noticed his entire body was dripping sweat, his face and shaved head were broken out in red blotches from overheating and strain and he was grunting just a little bit.  And then I watched as The Cuban Assassin knelt down in front of him and said, as if reading Redneck Neighbor’s mind out loud for the rest of the class, ”Why am I friends with Shaun Groves?  What did Shaun Groves get me into?” And he smiled at Redneck Neighbor and Redneck Neighbor did not smile back.

Suddenly I felt a lot better about myself.  This work-out thing, I’m relieved to say, really is hard.  Even for non-sissy-boy singer guys.