by Lisa Jo
Coach is finally making his way back to the gym after a serious injury and some work-associated gallivanting, and I’m grateful to be returning to a pseudo-normal schedule. I wasn’t the only one who missed him.
The regulars at the gym are easy to recognize; there aren’t many of us. When one of us is out, the others know it. We have Drago (nicknamed by Coach himself), a likely drug-assisted gym rat who thinks he’s way cooler than he is. UPS Guy never misses; his big brown truck is parked in the lot when I arrive without fail. He’s a typical Jersey guy with a greased-back pony tail and a huge chain around his neck, although he’s from Philly. Same difference.
Then there’s the guy who makes us cringe when he waves dumbbells around his head in a wild, uncontrolled manner he must call weight-lifting in his mind. I’ve seen Coach actually wince when he watches the disaster waiting to happen. Another guy works out in Vibrams, which I find unsafe. Big Cop trains Little Cop a few days a week… Big Cop’s back is the size of a small parking lot – not kidding.
Yesterday, UPS Guy made a bold move in front of Coach, which took me by surprise. Usually he’s pretty quiet and concentrated on his workout, and he might venture over with a comment or two if I am unaccompanied. Today, without my Coach, I was open and vulnerable for round 2, but I was a little more prepared for it. After complimenting my thighs (yes, he really did), he went into the interrogation stage… how many kids did I have, do they live with me, how old, etc.
Interesting.
It’s been so long since I’ve watched this happen in real life instead of through Match.com emails, I really was a little bit lost.
UPS Guy may be out for delivery, but I never called for a pick-up, and he’s going to leave without my signature on the dotted line.
