I have been working out. That is nothing new, I have always enjoyed the gym. It is great people watching. I find that the flexing in the mirror has gotten much more secretive in the last decade or so. When I first joined the gym, it seemed that part of the routine, if you were of a particular size, was to stand and flex in front of the huge mirrors. It was preening behavior. I thought it was silly until I saw the thong club drift over to watch. I confess, I have flexed in a mirror hoping the thongs would arrive. Sadly, they never did.
Years ago, I tried to do spinning class. I really enjoyed it. I have always been a bike rider and thought I was pretty hot stuff in the class. I mused over the instructor in matching sponsor shorts and shirt. I thought it would be an easy stroll. She mounted the bike and said, “My name is Meredith, I am a professional cyclist.” My legs still hurt 5 years later.
So, Ive been working out. I have been doing the stair master lately. I figure there are no stair master professionals. I am considering doing the ½ Ironman competition in the summer and thought it might be a good idea to do a little more cardiovascular training. I generally do 30 minutes, but decided yesterday to do 45. A brief history, I do this at the end of my work out. When I am done, I am not moist, not spritz, I am drenched. I sweat. I am also a math nerd. I like math. I make math problems out of addresses, license plates, and phone numbers. I muse when there is a math problem within the serial numbers of dollar bills. So, as I am sweating and climbing, I am also doing math problems on the number of floors I should obtained when the blinking hill demarking my current torture is completed. Generally, minutes ago as I walked the Green Mile to the stairs, I was setting a goal on how many floors I would climb that day, including a pace and heart range. See, I am a math nerd.
One of my favorite things is when someone gets on the stairs next to me after I am already on it, then gets off before. I scoff and think them stair inferior. I am the master of the stairs. I am working it. I am sweating, dividing, and climbing my way to stair glory. Often I want to introduce myself to the muscle bound flex king as he mounts the stairs. “Hi, I am T, I am a professional stair climber.”
The other day, I got on the stairs next to a way too thin woman. She couldn’t have been too serious, she was reading a magazine and it was covering her course and time. I wondered why she hated math. As I sweated to the oldies piped into my earbuds, I started to wonder how she was preparing for the next level if the magazine was there. How does she anticipate what is coming up next? She seemed to make the transitions easily and without even hesitation. Had she done this enough that she had this memorized? Then I noticed, as she chugged along at a pace that was near to running, that she wasnt sweating. No sweat, and no math? Was she crazy? I made my goal of 45 minutes, averaged 5.7 floors per minute. I limped off the machine. She was still on the machine as I hobbled down stairs to take my shower. I looked back and I think she spoke with her eyes. She said, “Hello, my name is Meredith, I am a professional stair climber.”
Iamnamed 