I don't think I told you that we finally gave up on the Rec Center and moved to the real gym. It will come as no surprise that I was a bit torn about the whole thing, given the fact that we had worked so hard on those non-relationships with all those people we had nicknamed. I find it quite a tragedy that I'll never know what happens to all my Rec-Center-Sorta-Friends... Will Sweaty-John-Jones ever know the impact he had upon my daily punishment at the Rec? (As in, Note to self, and all within a 10-foot radius of the man and his elliptical: Stay back. He lives up to his nickname -- drippingly so.) Will Evan, the 60-year-old twin of Dave's 5-year-old nephew, ever know how I puzzled over his utilitarian choice of working out in his swim trunks? And the Jazz Man: Is he still wearing those shiny, purple shorts?
But I wonder most about The Legend. Have I told you about The Legend? The Legend was a tall, thickset guy who usually arrived at the gym just after Dave and I showed up; but he never went "in" the "Out" to get a treadmill. No, The Legend lived only for the weight room. Every day he showed up in sweats that fit a bit too snugly, accompanied by a weight-lifting novice. The Legend and his protege would commandeer the pads in the corner and occupy that spot for at least 45 minutes, doing what?
Stretching. That's right, stretching. In fact, I think that's all I ever saw him do. I remember him giving his apprentice weight lifting tips, but I'm almost certain that I never saw The Legend himself do more than stretch.
The Legend would regale his adoring audience (i.e. his loyal, beginning weight-lifter friend) with tales of the old football glory days, and how he never missed his ritual stretches before their practices. "I never had an injury," he'd say, "because I always made sure I was really stretched and loose before I played. Those other guys," he'd expound, "they just flew through stretching, but they were always benched with new injuries. No, never had one injury." I suspect that The Legend may have avoided injuries simply because he got too wrapped up in the stretching bit; thus he never actually engaged in the Football Game Proper. Just a guess, though.
The Legend was the ultimate expert on stretching. It was rumored (by himself, of course) that he could still do the splits, although he never showed us. ...Probably not enough room or something. Either that or he needed to stretch for another 2 hours before he was ready to pull off the splits, but none of us had that kind of time.
When he wasn't talking about stretching, he was talking about his promising plans to make millions. "Why, I could write myself a $200,000-a-year job," he said one day. Actually, I could too, I'm just not sure that anyone would actually give me that job...or The Legend, for that matter. "It's all about the business model," he'd often repeat, whatever that meant. He certainly seemed to have a lot of untapped potential. At least he talked like he did.
What was great about The Legend was that even if he didn't really know what he was talking about, he sure made it sound like he did. That's actually how he got his nickname.
We began to call him The Legend when one of the other weight room patrons asked him if he was a personal trainer -- an understandable mistake, what with all the weight-lifting advice he was giving his faithful follower. The fact that he didn't lift the weights himself added to the personal trainer impression, since you rarely see a personal trainer doing more than standing around shouting encouragement. And with his bulky build, he almost could have been a body builder gone soft. ...Extremely soft.
So when asked if he was a personal trainer, he smiled and said, "No," and he paused wistfully. "No," he repeated with a sigh, "I'm just a legend in my own mind, right Gary?" I couldn't believe my luck. A Legend. That day, The Legend bestowed upon himself his own nickname.
So having left the Rec Center, I can't help but wonder about The Legend. Has he made his millions? Did he get his $200,000 self-written job? How's his stretching coming along? And most importantly, can he really do the splits?
Some things we'll never know.
Tragic, isn't it?
2 comments:
The Legend reminds me of Uncle Rico, promising to throw a football over them mountains. I think you should write for a living. Amen.
I just want a book of all the posts you've ever written, so I can read it and laugh my head off for the rest of my life. Tonight I'm the only one awake, and trying to laugh quietly is tricky without wheezing or snorting or chss chss shch ing. I take no blame if everyone in the house wakes up.
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