To stop time I get on a treadmill at Planet Fitness. What seems like an hour passes just to find out that only five minutes have gone by. At ten minutes I tried to smile at the women next to me. I must have looked like a crazed, heavy-breathing, sweating maniac. She smiled back.
Once a promising young athlete, now I just want to do thirty minutes without rolling back, falling off and laying on the floor. Not in front of this nice lady, not today.
I follow a very restrictive kidney diet–for about two days. That’s about how long I have ever lasted on a diet. When I get really hungry you might find me in line at Subway ordering double meat, double cheese on a foot long roll. All the vegetables, mayo and red pepper relish.
I eat this heavy meal very quickly. I enjoy this short time period. Call me a pig–I don’t care. Do not take the joy out of my life. I will fight back.
I noticed his color was bad. White as a ghost. They lifted him out of his wheelchair. They placed him in the chair next to me. I stopped looking. I could hear him talking. They had trouble getting his needles in. Ten minutes later his machine alarmed. The technician yelled for the nurse. Looking at him, then looking at his machine numbers, she yelled for the head nurse. That’s when I looked again. He looked dead. They tried to revive him for fifteen minutes. Then the rescue crew tried for another fifteen minutes. You can die that fast. Enjoy life.
The weight loss instructor looked straight at me in the group of about nine big fat women. “Stephen do you love yourself?”
They were all waiting for a goofy reply. I looked up with sadness in my eyes and said I did love myself, sometimes late at night. Then I rolled my eyes and looked guilty. This got a good laugh. We lost no weight Easter week.
The needles are turning my once perfect arm into a freakish, deformed, bumpy scar. The constant increased blood flow to that part of my body is hurting blood flow to my brain and other important organs. After a treatment my thinking is fuzzy. Then a puff of the medicinal and I don’t care anymore until morning.
She is Irish, a beauty with red hair. I say, “You are the prettiest flower in this garden,” as I look around the clinic with 20 more women milling about.
“Thank you, that was nice.”
Last week she told me that she was going through a nasty separation. I think she might be rich. I have a girlfriend, but I always keep my options open. I am not the man I once was, but I am as good once as I ever was.