We lost Sam Jackson tonight. Probably for the best, T Dog and I worked out before the game. We both came off like we were gonna do some south pacific death match wrestling. Working out definitely tuned us both up and left us a little tweaked. ***** was airlifted in, and looked like she’d had seven rounds with indecision. It was strange vibe. We drank light beer, ate raw vegetables and the cats watched us, stalked the kitchen for food.
Had I not worked out I think I would have been upset. But I didn’t care. There was this girl at the club. She was maybe ninety five pounds. I couldn’t tell her age, was she 16, maybe 19 max’ I didn’t take her serious, she was scrawny and pale. I watched her but I didn’t think she was a contender.
We were leading the pack at the fitness club. There are four rows of Elliptical machines. Each row has about six machines. In the nineties I don’t even remember an elliptical being around. We were in the lead row. I prefer to work in back, you can watch more people that way. The club was packed; we were there during the swell. Over the next hour or so the rush would dwindle and the team players would continue to do their thing. Lone gunmen wander the machines, looking for the right addition to their workout.
Right before we mounted the elliptical machines we debated whether we wanted to do music or talk. We chose talking. Maybe it forced us to breathe. Broke the boredom focus cycle. Instead of counting and succeeding in two minute incredments I counted time in seven minute blocks. We talked loudly and I nearly shouted at people in my “I think this is a funny voice” voice. It worked out pretty well, some guy hit on T Dog, we chatted with people around us, and annoyed them with our casual conversation.
O ne of the trainers at the club does her hair like the lead character from Dragon Ball Z. Most people would look ridiculous, and I thought little of her, till I saw her jogging around the track in a graceful trot. Sexy. The young girl who I thought was mush had broken into a trot. She was powerful. Her body took on this completely charged vibe, and she had the same energy and charge that always fascinates me about pregnant women. She didn’t look like some eating disorder confused teen. She ran on that treadmill like some Davinci model, and when she came off of the treadmill, she walked around with peacock energy.
Except for the morbidly obese and the “I haven’t worked out in a long time” people, everyone looks filled with energy when they hit halfway through their workout. There is this little Indian lady, she has somehow managed to pack like two hundred and sixty pounds onto like a four foot eleven frame. She always looks like she’s gonna have a heart attach when she works out. The really fat people wedge themselves into exercise bikes, but they don’t look like they’re working out, they have that “penalty time” look about them, but they are intent. Most folks walk in the club weary, tons on their mind, and it doesn’t matter if they go for a strong cardio vascular routine, or they pump some iron. Let them work out hard and they start to just take on this Alpha stance.
The normal sized people if they are just starting the gym life walk in with confused looks on their face. I know I do this when I’m alone. Indecision and self conscious ghosts run rings around my head, and I find myself having long winded conversations with myself. It sucks. It’s a thousand times better to have someone to work out with. Tonight we walked in, climbed on top of those machines and starting chatting like were sitting at a bus stop, it made a difference. We kicked ass, and walked out with vigor.