The Gym

Well, it’s official, I joined a gym. I’ve never been a member of a gym before and I’m really excited about the prospect of getting “in shape.” Sure, when I was in college, I had access to a gym, but that was college. Gym was for jocks and art students, like me, didn’t work out because they were afraid of the jocks.

bq. That’s not entirely true. My college’s gym was perpetually filled with dancers and ballerinas, because of the school’s dance program. I wasn’t particularly afraid of the dancers and ballerinas, aside from a few girls who could have passed for linebackers.

I’ve never been an athletic guy, I guess this is mainly due to my father. My father, the englishman, was pudgy all his life. He at the age of 16 lost his eye to an anti aircraft artillery shell during WW2 in England. This one eye gave him a lack of depth perception which secured he would never go to war, but made most cardiovascular _team sports_ kind of difficult to play.

*Try to play tennis with one eye.*

This meant that my father did not throw the old pig-skin around with me. He never showed me how to steal home. He once, to his credit, tried to show me how to play _cricket_ but _cricket_ is a game of waiting, waiting, brief excitement, and waiting.

So, the gym is really exciting in that I finally feel like I have a “purpose”:, like I could clime Mt. Everest, even dare i say it, climb up subway stairs and not emerge wheezing.

*I’m so excited!*


One response to “The Gym”

  1. It's so comforting to have direction.