Tuesday, May 17, 2005


So, I'm sitting on a bench in the locker room at the gym.

I've just managed to do my 5 miles on the treadmill with a minimum of shin splint pain, which in itself is slightly miraculous. The new Garbage album "Bleed Like Me" is extremely inspirational for pushing myself; it's just the right speed. I'm completely drenched in sweat and enjoying the mild endorphin rush. I'm alone with the exception of a young man who seems to be pulling a collection of boxer shorts ornamented with cartoon characters out of his locker and getting dressed. Strangely enough, he keeps looking over at me.

Now, after all these years, I know I don't get cruised at the gym. Almost never! I could count the number of times that's happened. I had all these gym fantasies when I first started going. Mostly regarding friendly and helpful people. You know, camaradie! I think I can safely blame Edmund White for this bit of nonsense. Thank god I worked with Andre all those months, because without a trainer, I would have fled years ago. I suppose the fact that I'm probably 15-20 years older than EVERYONE at my gym might have something to do with this, but I'm willing to ignore this fact, most of the time.

Anyway, this young man finally says:
"Hey, you look familiar".
And I'm thinking he's seen me out at the Dugout or the Phoenix or even God forbid, the Eagle.

So he asks me my name and I tell him.

And he says:

"No, that's not it. I thought you were a friend of my parent's!"


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