Who Is That Naked Woman
Too Old for This Sh*t: How to Take Your Life Back from an Ageist Society
A reflection on a reflection
If you’ve ever been in a gym, with rare exception you’ve noticed that mirrors play a huge part in gym work. For those who are serious about lifting, we check form to prevent injury and correct form when our last reps get sloppy. Some primp, some pose, but mirrors are an essential aspect of the gym.
My 24-Hour was my haunt for years. It even had mirrors just outside the women’s dressing room. That way you could check your strut before you strutted your stuff out onto the gym floor.
Most of us are creatures of habit. Mine was always the same locker, and a particular order in which I dressed. That comes from the military. The brain is lazy and likes habits.
After forty-five years of lifting, that habit was ingrained, like breathing.
One day I was distracted by an argument with my ex. In a hissy fit, I threw my gear bag down on the bench in front of my favorite locker and jerked my duds off.
As I pulled on my workout gear, my brain was punctuated with (DAMNIT STUPID DAMNIT). My whole routine was mugged.
Minutes later I strode out, still pissed, ready to take my anger out on the dumbbells and any unsuspecting punch bag (or douche bag) that got in my way.
You might recall this 1984 hit chorus:
Well, that was coursing through my head as I sped towards the floor.
As I turned the corner I caught sight of a woman walking along the hall, moving fast.
Bare breasts jiggling in the bright lights of the gym.
Holy shit, I thought.
That woman’s naked from the waist up.
Holy shit.
THAT’S ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
By the time this registered in my pissed-off pudding brain, I’d managed to stride right out onto the floor, just in time to flash the entire 5:30 post-work rush hour.
Nobody broke my stride all right.
Not one to waste an opportunity, I waved, then spun on my sneakers and strode right back to the bench, where I collapsed in laughter.
Since my sports bra was always the first thing I put on, if I skipped that step, my pissed-off pudding brain assumed that by the time I’d laced up my sneakers, of course everything else was good to go.
For those of you wondering, yes, I did go back out onto the floor.
And no, it didn’t register with anyone who the flasher had been.
Hell, nobody was looking at my face anyway. There’s that.
I’d like to blame this all on the ex-. I won’t.
But for those who mock the mirrors at the gym, this:
I’ll always be grateful for them.
Let’s play.
I hope you got a good chuckle out of my discomfiture again. If you had fun, I’ll be doing more. Please consider
If you know someone else who could use a good laugh, please also consider
Above all, cherish the moments you fail. The most boring person at a party is the person who has no funny stories.
Thank you so much--I REALLY needed that laugh. (And the recognition that sometimes anger really does get in our way, and laughter really IS the best medicine). Brava for getting back out there!!
Hilarious. That's all.