I’ve got another annoying story for you courtesy of my local gym.

So I’m running on the treadmill yesterday, trying to get my heart pumping, my legs moving, and my sweat glands gushing into overdrive. You know, an honest-to-goodness rip-snorting workout. After going underground to finish a few projects the last couple of weeks, I was desperate for a pretty grueling workout. Call me crazy.

So I’m running pretty fast, got the earbuds blaring Miranda Lambert, and trying to ignore the lady next to me yakking on her cell phone about some big real estate deal in north Phoenix. Everything was going pretty well, the loud cell phone yakker notwithstanding. I’d even reached that runner’s high where you feel like you could run all day. Life was good. Better than good.

But then without warning, the world changed: The gym cleaning crew stepped in.

All around me, three young girls with pails and aerosol spray cans began wiping down the treadmills and vacuuming the floors like it was the last time the gym could ever be disinfected. And did I mention it was 10 o’clock in the morning? And busy?

Anyway, there’s all this commotion going on around me—lady yakking on her cell phone, the usual hip hop blaring through the gym speakers that I do my best to ignore, Miranda Lambert blaring in my ears, guys grunting over the free weights in between fist pumps, and three girls spraying enough ammonia into the air to asphyxiate most of the Southwest.

All I could think of was, why here? Why now?

I usually run about six miles and I was already about halfway through my run. It killed me to have to stop but I had no choice, mostly because I couldn’t breathe. The aerosol cleaning sprays were not only blinding me but making my chest tighten into a knot. And I was the only one in my little area who seemed to be affected by it, making me wonder if everyone around me was one of those perfect pod people like in Invasion of the Body Snatchers where the pod people don’t need to eat or breathe. They just take over.

So I stopped. I had no choice, especially when the hard coughing started. After a few hand gestures (nothing obscene or inappropriate, of course), some chest heaving on my part, a quick apology and a head nod, the three cleaning ladies decided to start cleaning the equipment on the opposite end of the gym where there were, presumably, less annoyed people working out.

And would you believe that the lady yakking on the phone about her mega real estate deal never stopped for a single second? She was definitely a pod person.

::Writer X also writes at The 100 Most Annoying Things::

Tags: ::ESSAYS ABOUT REAL LIFE::, ::HEALTH::, annoying, observational humor, phoenix, pod people, running, working out at the gym

photo credit :: Ashley Gregory

He closes the door behind him without locking it. He doesn’t need to take the precaution. There will be someone home to open it when he gets back from his run to Governor’s Cut.

He walks to the beach. It is not quite twilight, but it will be getting dark on his return trip back north.

He stretches on the sand: bending down to touch his TOEs; taking the time to twirl each ankle, clockwise then counterclockwise; leaning against a wooden post and lengthening his calves, methodical, an instrument being tuned.

He breathes deeply, falling in love with the ocean as the waves kiss the shore. He wants to be the shore. That is why he takes out his rusty clippers and trims his nails, scatters them on the wet sand where the waves sough. It pleases him, knowing that his dead cells will mingle with the sand until, one day, they will become the sand.

He starts his stopwatch to keep pace. He knows it will take him twenty-five minutes to reach Governor’s Cut, where there is a lighthouse with the word [Jetty] stenciled in black paint. He cannot wait to see this lighthouse. He will be tired by the time he gets there, but he will be full of laughter, too. Tired and full of laughter at the sight of the lighthouse.

People on the beach are very active. The beach is an active place, even when people are horizontal on their blankets they are actively horizontal. The beach keeps people alive. It is a restless place by nature. In other words, it cannot help but be a restless place. There is no surcease at the beach. Everything is in motion. Nonstop. The beach is where we come from. One glorious day an amphibious creature graces land, and from there the rest is history, our history.

He isn’t thinking about anything in particular. He is only running, unaware of the importance of the ocean, the meaning of the sea. He intuitively understands everything around him though.

The children shouting joyously, he understands.
The man flying the kite, he understands.
The woman standing on the bluff in her dress, he understands.
The seagulls walking all funny, he understands.
The pig skin spiraling through the air, he understands.
The sand that sneaks into his shoes, he understands.
The soccer players, he understands.
The girls in bikinis, he understands.
The condominium under construction, he understands.
The music thumping in South Beach, he understands.
The trash cans, he understands.
The footfalls in the sand, he understands.
The lovers in sunglasses, he understands.
The sound of his feet carrying him forward, he understands.
His beating heart, he understands.

But he isn’t thinking about any of it in particular. He is only running, aware of his own running, of his body, his organs, his enzymes. He is a little man on the beach, a dot on the beach, nothing at all, and everything around him is an impression.

Tags: ::CREATIVE WRITING:: Poetry, governor's cut, how to run, in search of truth, miami beach, running, soughing waves, things to do in miami, TOE pic

Today I got my first Christmas gift, a brand new pair of much-needed running shoes.

This is an exciting gift,

a pair of kicks that will keep my arched feet supported, comfortable, and balanced.

The pamphlet that came with my new New Balance

is a rectangular piece of red cardboard with a black stripe on the outside that reads:

Committed to American Workers
Solidaire des Travailleurs Américain

Inside, the pamphlet is much more informative and less vague:

These shoes have been produced by the New Balance team in one of our five U.S. factories. Unfortunately, we are not able to obtain all materials and components for these shoes in the U.S., either because they are not available, or because economic or quality considerations dictate foreign sourcing. The Federal Trade Commission has attempted to determine what it means to say a product is “made in” the U.S. We believe most consumers think “Made in USA” means that real manufacturing jobs were provided to U.S. workers in order to make the product.

Manufactured in the U.S.A.

These shoes were made by U.S. workers using U.S. and imported materials. Where the domestic value is at least 70%, we have labeled the shoe “Made in USA.” Where it falls below 70%, we have qualified the label referencing domestic and imported materials. This determination is based in part on the FTC’s survey of consumers. The FTC’s analysis of the “Made in USA” issue can be found at FTC.gov or for a copy, write to New Balance Athletic Shoe, Inc., 20 Guest Street, Boston, Massachusetts 02135, Attn.: Communications.

The tag inside my new running shoes reads:

MADE IN USA OF IMPORTED MATERIALS

I never knew exactly what this meant until now. But these sure are nice shoes. Can’t wait to run in them!

Tags: ::SPORTS::, american workers, ftc, made usa, new balance, running, toe striker

Not even a year ago could I have said,

“I use my legs a lot.”

As little as twelve months ago, I didn’t do

much walking,

biking,

and I didn’t do

much running either.

Twelve months ago, the only time I used my legs was to get in the car, which was fewer than fifty yards from my front door, in a parking lot that often flooded, even in moderate rains.

dot.

Tags: 211, ::ESSAYS ABOUT REAL LIFE::, ::HEALTH::, active, miami, running, sedentary, sleepless night, spam allstars, steel reserve, things to do in miami, TOE pic, walking

photo credit :: bridget

Got caught in the rain with a dog and his owner today. The three of us started the walk understanding that we could get caught in the rain. But still we didn’t bring umbrellas or coats. Call it stubborn, call it stupid, call it not taking the rain seriously. The dog, who has already appeared on TOE no less than twice, wanted to walk regardless of the rain. But if it started to thunder and lightning, he would be the first to hightail it back to familiar grounds, believe me.

Even before it started raining, the dog’s owner was talking about the proper form for running. I’ve always been interested in discovering the proper form when it comes to running. Form is 90% of being athletic. If you have good form, you don’t need much muscle. But what do I know? I’m just someone who didn’t know the proper way to run until I got caught in the rain with a man and his dog.

ƒ

Tags: ::SPORTS::, form, right way run, road runner, running, technique, toe striker, video clip