*So this is an unedited, currently untitled piece. I started it this morning during a bout of insomnia. Apparently 2012 can't wait three weeks to 'be my year'. So, here goes a start, which is no-thing like the last story. More character focus even though the protagonists are as yet unnamed, indepth plot, and a lot of references. A very slow moving attempt, this. But I had to get it out while it was fresh in my mind, so this is what comes of it. And away we go...
~~~
My morning was turning into a prime example of a true clusterfuck. Woke up late, so no time for breakfast. Forgot Dee's lunch, so had to hustle to get that done and to her, which set errands back half an hour, which meant I'd be arriving at the gym later than usual. It wasn't really a big deal; just that this was really the only time I got to sort through the past week and zone out.
I never paid any attention to my surroundings, or even to my progress. When I started coming nearly a year ago, I was in bad shape. I didn't really look fat,just pudgy, and my clothes hid that well enough. But I lacked stamina and strength. Sure, I was strong enough to do a lot of the chores and other household things it would have been nice to have a guy around to do, but that was because of circumstance and not a conscious, concerted effort. I wasn't 16 and on the swim team anymore.
I didn't notice that it slowly became easier and easier for me to hit my stride from a short jog to a full on run on the treadmill. Sure, I was a bit self conscious at first. Big girls shouldn't run, no matter how big your t-shirt is. You get looks. But when my workout buddy, Chloe, met her goal and moved on to slimmer wardrobes, she bestowed upon me her workout playlist. She made me a few cds so that I could put them on my iPod and still have a hard copy in the event my technology impediment reared its ugly head again. We still kept in touch and meet for the occasional walk, jog, treadmill run, or latte at Starbucks, which is nice. I can't say that I have very many female friends I connect with regularly. Not that I'm a ne'er do well, but being empathetic and observant, I try to avoid conflict as much as possible, and most of my friends are male, with female significant others. I don't like stepping on toes or rocking the boat unnecessarily.
I had been blasting Bo's, my precious '04 silver Jetta convertible, speakers out cranking the playlist to get me psyched up from the round of chastising I'd treated myself to for not making sure my alarm was set and not being more prepared in general. The top was down, the breeze was warm, and the makings of a pleasant smile were on my face as I pulled into the parking lot. I hopped out, secured the car and grabbed my bag, a slight spring in my step as Beyonce's End of Time continued in my head. I fished out my member card, took a swig from my ice bottle (bit of a trick I picked up: to keep your water refreshing, especially in the summer at small gyms, freeze a water bottle a third to half full, adding a slice of fruit if you like, then about an hour before you hit the gym, fill the bottle with cool water. By the time you reach the first machine, even ifyou live over the gym, you'll have cold, lightly sweetened if you choose, water that won't warm even if the air conks out in the middle of July. And, it should last well past your workout if you freeze it halfway or a bit more and pace yourself.), and stepped into my sanctuary. I immediately wanted to turn around and go home.
'Shit!' I thought to myself. Some jackass was on my treadmill. The one farthest from the door, in the corner, facing away from the row of TVs. Once I was on my own in my visits, I decided on this machine because it was inconspicuous enough. Even as I improved, I didn't want peopleto notice me. I liked being invisible. It was a condition I had become accustomed to and perfected. I could zone out to my tunes, go somewhere else in my mind and not worry about the squat Guido in the Mets shirt or the sturdy girl in the lacrosse hoodie glaring at the Barbie twins who were making sure the jock wannabes in the row behind them were watching their asses and ponytails swing as they ran. I was alone. No one took the other machines next to my treadmill. Couldn't be seen over in that corner. But I as didn't have anyone looking for me, other than Chloe when she could make it in, it was perfect.
"Uh-oh. What is it? You're usually the most oddly chipper person here, even when you're exhausted."
I could only smile lamely at Tara, the girl at the member desk. She'd been the first one of the staff to actually say something to me about anything. She called me on the fact that I should consider a new wardrobe, as my current one was almost an issue.She just grinned and nodded to my shoulder, exposed from the now super large neck of my sweatshirt. We spoke every visit since then, and formed a nice rapport.
"No big deal, Tar. Woke up late is all. Been running like feet on fire since. Gonna kick rocks outta here and get some work done." I snapped my ear buds into my iPod as I spoke, waving the device to show what I meant. I took a gamble glance over at my machine, hoping to find that the dude was just finishing up, but no such luck. The fucker was actually pressing buttons and speeding up. My jaw stayed clenched and off the floor by sheer force of will.
"Gonna go drop this bag, and maybe stretch at the lockers. Never been this late before. Lotsa folks in here this time of day."
"Yeah," Tara laughed. "People wanting to assuage guilt for weekend debauchery and lunchtime foibles."
That got an honest laugh out of me. I nodded and waved as I made my way to the locker room, ear buds snuggly in my ear, and A-B Machines revving up. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.
The locker room was empty enough, so I found a free space and stowed my bag. I tucked my iPod into my bra cup and sorted out the lock, making sure to put my wrist-cord key and water bottle on the counter. I slowly began to stretch, my mind already wandering as it focused on the sensations of each muscle being prepared for wherever I would wind up today. I inhaled deep as I rolled my neck and stretched my arms overhead and behind me, opening up my ribcage. This was my favorite stretch. I convinced myself that maybe my muscles were a little too long for my skeleton, which would explain why swimming and stretching always made me feel fantastic. The warm push and pull, the tension, even the disappointment of release. I tried not to think about what a former teammate had once said.
"You're into that kind of stuff. Weird torture and shit. You probably couldn't even get off unless somebody tied you down and spread you out so wide all your joints dislocated."
Back then, what she said had hurt. Bad. I was already weird enough without somebody predicting my future with such certainty. But now, I could see where she may have been right. I mean, I did major in medieval history with a forensic psychology minor. I had been into things like the Inquisition and obscure methods of torture for years. It fascinated me. The methods, the implementation, the tools and equipment, the mindset, scandal and salaciousness, logic and reasoning. And I'd be lying if I said I didn't get a little wet when I heard a reclusive collector was auctioning his prized and possibly authentic 15th century torture rack a few years ago. What can I say? History, and the darker side of human nature, has always fascinated me.
I exhaled and shook out my arms as a middle aged woman came in. I smiled at her as I leaned to the side now fully engrossed in the tantalizing promise of escape afforded me by my run. I frowned a bit when Angel Is a Centerfold came on. Nothing against the song or the J. Giles Band, I just hadn't decided what mood I was in, and that song puts me in that 80's teen movie state of mind. It's a good thing more often than not, though.
I timed my stretches by the verses and chorus breaks, so by the time Angel was over I was almost to the floor. Just a few more, and hopefully my interloper would have the decency to disappear. I mean, it's pretty much common knowledge around here that that particular treadmill is mine. What's his deal anyway? He must be new. I could hear the angel and devil of my conscience gearing up for another row.
**Let's be nice to him.**
--Let's tell him to fuck off!--
**He may have a nice girlfriend. You could use afew more female friends.**
--Can it, Glenda Goodwitch!--
I smiled and shook my head as I pulled my heel up behind me, reaching up with my opposite arm. I love the dull pop I get when Istretch my spine just right. I switched sides, again getting that pop that makes me sigh. Maybe today wouldn't be such a wash after all.
I turned to see my gym mate give me a wry, knowing smile, almost an admonition. 'Yeah, I know. Keep it up and I'll have a bad back, blah blah. But given the circumstances, who's gonna care?' I thought to myself. It must have shown in my face, either that thought or my reaction to the opening bars of Alanis' Unforgiven, because her face softened for a moment before she smiled and headed out to the rest of her certainly wonderful day.
I finished stretching, particularly enjoying the pull of tension in my hamstrings as I squatted and extended to either side.'One of these days I really won't be able to do this anymore,' I thought. That thought took me places I didn't need to be, so I shook it off, jumping in place a few times to get the blood really going before skipping the rest of Alanis caterwauling to the next song. My m.o. is usually to find a kicking jam, take the iPod off shuffle, hop on the machine and let my playlist go in order. I went off a little bit on the inside as H.A.M. blasted through my buds, the possibility of having to wait for my machine far from my mind.
~~~
So like Mumble said, that's all I got so far. I mean, I do know where this is headed eventually, but I don't have anything to segue between here and there at the moment. So... Happy Holidays everyone! Let's hope 2012 sees me all carpal tunneled out from writing. :)
LMA
PP
LL
