"Hey, if this works for you, I'm going to move to Venice and buy a bike!"
Today I got to live one of those moments. The language one, not the roundhouse kick.
Growing up in the south this whole method of double speak became second nature, so I've had quite a bit of experience with this area of life. I'm sure it goes on everywhere. It starts early in life, and quite simply.
- At 6, overdressed and itchy, at grandma's house for what amounts to a foreign meal, you're told how nice you look. You notice that they tell your brother how 'special he is' - and you learn in the moment that there are several types of special. Special isn't always good special.
Was it me who looked nice and my brother who was the special one? Or was it the other way around?
It was so long ago, I'm sure I don't remember.
- At 13, overdressed again, at the new girlfriend's front door, staring up at her father. "You're not goin' ta' do anything out of line with my daughter, are you, son?" Already sweating in the too thick cardigan, I rack my brain. In the background the girl - the reason I'm putting myself through all of this - is leaning against the wall, hoping I answer correctly.
As for today, it went like this. I arrive at the office, on bike as is the norm, grab my non-sweaty clothes, and make my way as quickly as possible toward the facilities to change. On the way, I normally get a couple of 'how was it?' comments and I try to respond appropriately, which is with a polite and terse response.
- At 13, overdressed again, at the new girlfriend's front door, staring up at her father. "You're not goin' ta' do anything out of line with my daughter, are you, son?" Already sweating in the too thick cardigan, I rack my brain. In the background the girl - the reason I'm putting myself through all of this - is leaning against the wall, hoping I answer correctly.
She's slowly sliding one knee across the other as she bites her lip and tugs on that little skirt. A light jean-material, bright green mini-skirt hiding almost none of her legs, with a mod-power! style flower print splotched all over it, a hidden side zipper that went halfway down, a 1/2 inch metal button above. Or was it plastic?
It was so long ago, I'm sure I don't remember.
'Focus,' I tell myself, thinking quickly. Don't want to lie. Don't want to leave empty handed.
He repeats the question.
Then I straighten up and proudly proclaim, "No, Sir!" as I realize I don't want to do "anything" out of line with his daughter, I want to do something very specific.
Very specific.
Like hold her hand.
And compliment her on her wonderful parents. Language is an ambiguously wonderful thing.
Ah, the good old days, may they never return.
Ah, the good old days, may they never return.
As for today, it went like this. I arrive at the office, on bike as is the norm, grab my non-sweaty clothes, and make my way as quickly as possible toward the facilities to change. On the way, I normally get a couple of 'how was it?' comments and I try to respond appropriately, which is with a polite and terse response.
Seems people don't really care about the dead animal I swerved to miss at mile marker 3.702. Or how close my heart rate was to exploding (as recorded by my trusty HR monitor) as I crested that huge 110 ft. hill. Who can blame them.
Then this one guy, let's call him Manny, goes a step further. After the typical 'how was it?' comment, he turned to me full face and started a real conversation.
"How many miles do you ride each way?"
"About 8," I replied. (Actually, it's 7.2 but I've learned from other riders you're supposed to round up, way up.)
"That's a good workout."
Standard stuff to this point. Then, as he turns to walk away, I get this...
"Hey, if this works for you, I'm going to move to Venice and buy a bike!"
I say, "Thanks." and Manny is gone. I'm left to reflect on his last statement as I fill my water bottles for the trip home. Obviously, there is something about me that needs to work. Manny must have been thinking, 'this guy must be desperate to get in shape.'
Then this one guy, let's call him Manny, goes a step further. After the typical 'how was it?' comment, he turned to me full face and started a real conversation.
"How many miles do you ride each way?"
"About 8," I replied. (Actually, it's 7.2 but I've learned from other riders you're supposed to round up, way up.)
"That's a good workout."
Standard stuff to this point. Then, as he turns to walk away, I get this...
"Hey, if this works for you, I'm going to move to Venice and buy a bike!"
I say, "Thanks." and Manny is gone. I'm left to reflect on his last statement as I fill my water bottles for the trip home. Obviously, there is something about me that needs to work. Manny must have been thinking, 'this guy must be desperate to get in shape.'
"If this works for you" - nice.
I thought I was just saving money and getting outside a bit. Ok, I hope to get into better shape. Lots better shape. If others can use Palettes to pass for meditation time, biking for weight loss can pass for green do-gooding, right? I'm saving the world one pound at a time! er, one mile at a time. Yeah, energy efficiency. That's why I started riding. The fact that I weighed almost 300 lbs had nothing to do with it. That was about 80 lbs ago. But at the start it was the environment, the gas savings, I think.
It was so long ago, I'm sure I don't remember.
3 comments:
Confront Manny. Tell him something he said to you was unsettling and you want to know what he meant. There is no sense in wondering.
*As for memory, I don't know what I did yesterday and don't know what I will to do tomorrow. While it might not be the right plan, it's the plan I'm going with today. I just hope I'm better for it tomorrow.
I think his statement was more along the lines of I wish I could have an opportunity to combine getting to work, staying healthy (also see lose wight) and save me money all at the same time. It's defiantly a reflecting on how little time we have to do anything these days, that if we want to do anything extra a sacrifice is always required. So when we only have time to so what is required, being able to do something we would like to do at the same time is almost seems like getting something for free.
That was me Andy
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