Met at the Gym .

I’ve been riding too much, just sitting, no exercise. My legs have lost some strength when I hold the bike at a red light, or try to push it back from a curb. So tonight I once again hit a local Anytime Fitness gym using my universal access keyfob.

I tried to put my stuff in a cubby, but was blocked by an older guy. Black with newly grey hair (like Obama) bifocals, about 40 pounds overweight (unlike my 80). He wore long fleece pants, not shorts, and a dark sweatshirt.

Instead of saying “Can you move aside so I can use a cubby” I used Midwestern speak. I reached then stopped, pulled back, made eye contact, then said “How are you doing tonite?” which everyone knows you mean “please move”.

He replied with a sigh, a million miles away.. “Not so good man. I wanted to be home, but my wife dragged me in here. She’s doing her thing”, (pointing to a good bit overweight woman on a middle treadmill, wearing not very flattering pink spandex pants). “I tried to stay in the car, but she made me come in …”.

“I gotta do 30 minutes of cardio” , he actually grumbled.

He couldn’t have known that I’m going through a divorce and that one of several issues was our mutual lack of shared commitment to insist that we both be our best. Some call it nagging, others call it cheering on, others call it setting a high standard of expectation.

No matter what you call it, we didn’t do it. And that was one of several different reasons our marriage eventually fell apart.

I said. “Buddy, you are a very lucky man to have her. If you’re smart, you’ll go say thank you … and do as she says.”

He moved and I got started. And I did my leg and ankle work. I watched him plod along like a plow-horse, watching Monday Night Football on his treadmill’s TV. She finished her walk, and then had plenty of time to do an extra workout with the kettlebells before he finished.

Me? I snuck out and went home without another word.

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