Mom on the Run
I’m at the gym, sitting on the bench at the cable machine, doing the seated row. (The cable machine probably has a different name, but my weight lifting education is not advanced enough to include proper equipment terminology.) I like the seated row, it’s not painful and I can do what seems like a decent weight, plus I can look around while I exercise. Looking around is a good thing, because there’s always something to see in the free weights room, a.k.a. Manland.
So I’m rowing away, Matchy-Matchy next to me on the same cable machine, doing something different. I have no idea what Matchy-Matchy’s real name is (kind of like all the equipment in here!), but I secretly call him that because he is very precise in his dressing, always coordinating his workout clothes. His shirt, shorts, socks, and shoes always go together, usually with one unifying color, as if he dressed from a catalog. He’s very particular, and it amuses me.
Matchy-Matchy is sweating over his workout. He’s only recently come back to the gym; he had minor surgery and couldn’t exercise for six weeks. I never knew him particularly well, we would do the standard gym “’Sup?” head bob and occasionally, “Are you using this?” We never had a real conversation.
But then he disappeared for six weeks! I was so relieved when he came back. I had worried over his absence, and his first day back I dashed over: “Where have you been?”
Matchy-Matchy was pleased to have been missed and glad to be back at the gym, but he was dreading working out after six weeks off. “It’s going to take a lot of work to get back to where I was,” he said, shaking his head. I told him I thought he still looked great, but I knew what he meant. Manland is populated by bulgy, buff guys who constantly compare themselves with each other, and Matchy-Matchy definitely had lost some bulk.
“It’ll come back quickly, I’m sure,” I reassured him, as if I have any idea what I’m talking about, and he had smiled and nodded.
Now here he is next to me. I’m doing my seated rows, and he’s got a handle on the cable to my right and is pulling on it, pull-release, pull-release, doing a bicep exercise. We’re both working away companionably when Carlos walks by. He’s headed for the water fountain right behind Matchy-Matchy, and he sees me and waves cheerfully.
“Hi!” I greet him, smiling. Carlos is a nice guy. Friendly and funny, he’s always been welcoming and helpful, which I especially appreciated on those first intimidating days in Manland. And as I look at him, standing behind Matchy-Matchy, I realize: “Hey, you guys dressed the same today!”
Carlos and Matchy-Matchy stop what they’re doing and look each other up and down: each is wearing a sleeveless orange shirt, black shorts, black socks, and black sneakers. Even the oranges are the same; they’re almost identical outfits! “We texted each other,” Matchy-Matchy says to me, smiling.
“Yeah,” says Carlos, then, “You should take a picture.” He leans in and finishes slyly, gesturing first to Matchy-Matchy and then to himself: “Before, and after!” He pauses just a beat, then roars with laughter. It takes me a minute before I get it, then, Oh! Carlos means he’s all defined and muscle-y, and Matchy-Matchy is wimpy and skinny!
My mouth drops open in surprise and I look at Matchy-Matchy. His mouth has dropped open too, staring at Carlos. Then the guys look at each other and Carlos starts to laugh, big deep roaring “hahaha!”s, head thrown back with delight at his own joke.
“OK, OK,” says Matchy-Matchy, grinning. “Very funny.” He picks up his cable again. “Now go away,” he growls, and he starts again, pull-release, pull-release, ferociously.
Carlos and I look at each other. I’m laughing so hard, I think my face is going to split. Before and after picture! Brilliant line! And for the millionth time I reflect on the strange and hilarious place that is Manland. Ha!
