Friday, October 07, 2005
Trial of Faith
The girl with the Nice Shoulders showed up at the gym yesterday. It wasn't till she got onto the treadmill that I recognised her.
That easily loping stride, those carefree, swinging shoulders... absolute freedom; perfect control.
For a split second as I mounted the treadmill beside her I considered telling her, hey don't take this the wrong way, but you have a beautiful running style.
I didn't, of course. Instead I did my usual suicidal 15 + 15.5 routine.
9:43
So if you were that girl, at Fitness First George Street, 19.30 pm yesterday, second treadmill from the left... I was the guy struggling to survive one treadmill to the left of you. This one goes out to you...
perhaps next time I see you again, I'll tell you what a beautiful stride you have. :)
*****
So the Plan was, gym, quiet drinks with friends friends, and then home.
Through a bizarre twist of circumstances, and a chance comment, I suddenly found myself somewhere in the private rooms of the Moet et Chandon bash, making smalltalk.
Dozer arrived, and I went, escorted graciously by one of the Tango girls to collect her from the door. It was obvious she didn't need collecting though (as I'd tried to tell the tango host), the second she kissed, and was kissed by the event organiser.
The tango group moved on to the dancefloor, in order to catch a glimpse of the night's band (very, very good)
There I caught side of a nine, right smack in the middle of the floor. Yummy.
Eventually, though, the group fragmented. Duty called, and we all had work the next day.
I stopped to bid the Dozer goodbye, and suddenly found myself seated amongst some disconcertingly rich and famous people, one of whom I seem to recall gracing the cover of Forbes magazine... or something like that... discussing laser acupuncture and checking out the odd passing female (and even the Dozer, although that was my newfound acquaintence doing it, who to be honest, was completely smashed and would probably have checked out his own mother...)
Four hours of sleep...
... that was not the plan.
*****
And so it has begun, my trial of faith.
That easily loping stride, those carefree, swinging shoulders... absolute freedom; perfect control.
For a split second as I mounted the treadmill beside her I considered telling her, hey don't take this the wrong way, but you have a beautiful running style.
I didn't, of course. Instead I did my usual suicidal 15 + 15.5 routine.
9:43
So if you were that girl, at Fitness First George Street, 19.30 pm yesterday, second treadmill from the left... I was the guy struggling to survive one treadmill to the left of you. This one goes out to you...
perhaps next time I see you again, I'll tell you what a beautiful stride you have. :)
*****
So the Plan was, gym, quiet drinks with friends friends, and then home.
Through a bizarre twist of circumstances, and a chance comment, I suddenly found myself somewhere in the private rooms of the Moet et Chandon bash, making smalltalk.
Dozer arrived, and I went, escorted graciously by one of the Tango girls to collect her from the door. It was obvious she didn't need collecting though (as I'd tried to tell the tango host), the second she kissed, and was kissed by the event organiser.
The tango group moved on to the dancefloor, in order to catch a glimpse of the night's band (very, very good)
There I caught side of a nine, right smack in the middle of the floor. Yummy.
Eventually, though, the group fragmented. Duty called, and we all had work the next day.
I stopped to bid the Dozer goodbye, and suddenly found myself seated amongst some disconcertingly rich and famous people, one of whom I seem to recall gracing the cover of Forbes magazine... or something like that... discussing laser acupuncture and checking out the odd passing female (and even the Dozer, although that was my newfound acquaintence doing it, who to be honest, was completely smashed and would probably have checked out his own mother...)
Four hours of sleep...
... that was not the plan.
*****
And so it has begun, my trial of faith.
