To paraphrase Roast Beef, I haven’t been getting to the gym regularly in mainly forever, what with things.
But I did make it this morning, late ’cause I was waiting for my damn iPod to charge (and finishing rereading Jim Harrison‘s book Dalva). I warmed up a little on the elliptical trainer, then jogged three miles on the treadmill and went to the locker room, feeling grumpy and inadequate.
A few minutes later, the woman who’d been on the treadmill next to me showed up.
“How much time do you usually spend on the treadmill?” she asked.
“Well, sometimes as much as an hour, but more often, you know, I do thirty, forty minutes or so.” (Inadequate, grumpy. Beating self up as I spoke.)
“You really inspire me!” she said. “I usually just do five minutes. But today I did ten!”
“That’s great!” I said. “And thanks.”