Saturday, September 6, 2014

A Place in Space

I was reminded yesterday morning that while we are social animals we are also most comfortable alone in our own skin. I was at my gym (not really mine, but a Planet Fitness a fourteen-minute walk from my house, not that I ever walk to it, otherwise why go to the gym?) and got into a conversation with someone in the locker room, whom (as it happens) I know from work.

The joke here being that would that I had, indeed, known him from work; but I didn’t. He had to remind me, while shaking off the sting of his remembering me but me NOT recalling him and I feigned remembrance and pleasure I didn’t feel at seeing him again. I suspect I was less than convincing judging from his facial expression.

He mentioned he’d seen me ‘around’ and was going to say hi but he always hesitated since I seemed to be paying especially close attention to my headphones. I manufactured some synthetic excuse that incorporated the ear buds (I think that’s more accurately the term though who should I ask if unsure) and preparing for something ‘at work’ (in the gym at ten after four in the morning because everyone does that) and headed for the treadmill ending, at least for now and perhaps for another year or so (that’s how long I’ve almost been a member), our conversation.

Out on the machine, over (simulated) hill, over (virtual) dale, though without any semblance of a dusty trail (that’s one of the reasons I joined the gym because running in the rain, sleet and snow only works if I’m carrying first class mail), I realized this hour is my “me” time.

I devote my working life to strangers (and some days that’s the nicest thing I can say about them) and my “home” time for my family. When I‘m asleep, I’m weightless and thoughtless, so this is really all the time I get. And if some mornings, I spend my time with Nick Mason, Richard Thompson or Elliot Smith, it’s only to recharge for the marathon ahead.

Metaphorically speaking, of course. With my knees, I’ll take metaphors to marathons every day in the week. And twice on Sundays. Now, let the day begin.

-bill kenny

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