It was a new year. I promised myself to keep fit after gorging every last morsel of food during the holidays. I suspended anything remotely related to "working out" for the past two weeks. A few co-workers massaged the idea of participating in a half-marathon in April and spontaneously I offered to join them. I could not back out of it so I quickly pressured myself into drafting an elaborate plan to work myself up to the 13 miles I needed to run.
Contemplating my new resolution I wondered how the atmosphere of the gym would be. January 2nd always meant a crowded gym with everyone hoping to begin the New Year with a steadfast commitment to his or her shared resolutions of losing weight and keeping fit. This idea detracted me away from heading out to my regular gym.
I noticed a new gym had opened up down the street that catered more toward the executive bunch boasting squash courts, executive style lockers and showers, massage rooms, and a few other amenities absent from the huge national gym chains. A local ad also offered a two-week trail period for local residents. "Sweet," I thought to myself, by then most people would have abandoned their resolutions and the gym will return back to its normal capacity.
The gym was nice, not as big as the mega-chain ones, but enough to satisfy any workout buff's dream without feeling like a Costco. Browsing around on my first day I checked out the crowd. Mostly older business men with a few young guns, but the ratio of men and women was at least 5:1, but most of the men looked married and the women uninterested.
Settling down on a treadmill, I opened up my training notebook that outlined my week's workout. "3, 10-minute intervals 10-K pace". I already felt tired trying to remember what pace 10k pace meant. I was not a runner, but swimming was sort of the same and was able to pick up some things from my runner friends.
"Training for a race?" an older voice said from my right side.
I looked up not remembering anyone next to me when I first came up to the treadmill. He was older maybe 50 years old with gray hair. He was leaning on the edge of the treadmill apparently finished with his workout, as his breathing was heavy and beads of sweat slowly trickled down his forehead. Normally I would respond causally and quickly try to ignore anyone trying to interrupt my concentrated workout mode, but as I scanned down I noticed his muscular legs. These were definitely runner legs.
"Yeah," I stammered. "Training for my first half-marathon."
"I've done a few of those before, but I'm looking for a new type of workout to keep me fit," he responded. I was intrigued. His tone was cool and I could not for the life of me stop looking at his quads that seemed to pulsate out of his running shorts. I let my imagination wander.
"I haven't seen you here before, names Caleb," he said wiping his hand with a cloth before stretching it out for a shake.
"Derrick," I responded pulling my hand out giving him a firm handshake. We held our handshake enough to meet eyes, but not long enough to questions each other's intentions. "Yeah I'm trying this new place out. You know, tired of all that mega gym madness down the street," I continued.
