Du….Du hast….
Nothing like a little German industrial metal to cool down with. After slugging it out with the punching bag, and arguing with gravity, I breathed in…out…the treadmill set for slow.
Over Rammstein’s bellowing, another sound surfaced…closer, outside the headphones.
What IS that? Is there a bull in the gym?
City habits die hard. I thought I should know.
OH. It’s those college kids bench pressing.
I wandered over. “Whatcha workin’ on?”
“335 pounds…not my record, just trimming back a bit.”
The twenty two year old was nearly square, a Hulk of average height, superhuman strength, but not green. Picture a pitbull transformed into a Gen Zer.
“I’m Josh.”
“Jimmy. I remember you - you liked my friend’s funny workout shirt.”
Yesterday
“Yo Jimmy, whatch workin’ today?” He had three hundred pounds on the smith machine.
“Shoulders!”
“Shoulders?” (That’s ox-level stuff.)
I scuttled off. There was work to do.
An hour later, there he was, flexing and posing for his crew. I crept up behind him, imitating like a skinny shadow, friends smirking.
He whirled around to see what was behind him. My arms dropped.
“Dude, I am just so impressed by you guys. Made me pick up tougher stuff today.”
Their faces lit up. “Alright, man. That’s what it’s about.”
So Proud of Ya
There’s a lot of talk about light on here - being a beacon, and blazing good actions into the darkness.
There’s much to study about not becoming the monsters we fight. Twitter has been instructive so far.
Today’s a shoutout to the folks that are doing admirable things in a quiet way. (Well, sometimes they bellow, but that works, too.)
It’s not always lifting the gym. It’s the hard working neighbors. It’s the guy keeping the shelves stocked at the grocery store. It’s a buddy named Ardyce who got her first book published in ‘92, and her second one just a few weeks ago.
(I’ve read her first work, The Fitzhugh Lee Sampler, and dug it. I just started the recent novel, Waiting for Ted, and am also enjoying it. It’s even signed :)
I was hanging out with dad and the bros in Richmond. While surveying a marshy vista, Noah posed a darn good question: If things keep rotting, and decomposing, and turning into dirt - why isn’t the whole planet a muddy swamp?
This is a good metaphorical question, too. Sometimes it seems the mud of the world will swallow us.
God bless the beacons. And God bless the folks doing admirable things.
Ardyce - Jimmy - Neighbors - keep rockin’ on.
It’s nice to have examples to turn to.
Josh
PS. Another author friend reviewed a draft of a preface I sent her. She wrote back: Overwritten and a bit combative. I replied “Thanks for the future autobiography title.”
Is there a full record/copy of what I sent earlier today?
I assume not, and I'm furious.
I LOVE what I wrote (the entire four to five thousand word e-missive), and I want to reread it and admire it and reread it and admire it some more and preserve it. Thx