STRETCH. STRETCH. DON’T GIVE UP, YOU ARE ALMOST THERE.

It’s easier when somebody else is doing the thinking for me, because in the meantime, my own brain is thinking GET OUT RUN THIS SUCKS. But it’s all a trick, you see, not so much a war between myself and my body but myself and the future. Time is this crazy sumbitch, completely uninterested in what we’re thinking, feeling, doing, or being, and the only way to make peace with that is to see time differently. And sometimes it helps when Gary is shouting at me.

COME ON, THREE MORE.

Thanks, Gary. This is why I pay you the big bucks. What’s crazy to me is that Gary lives an entire life outside of SporTime Fitness. I suppose I know a couple things about him, he’s got a sister, a kid, but I have no idea what his husband does. Or even what neighborhood they live in, for that matter. And what’s crazy too is that the life Gary lives outside of here is exactly as long as mine. He will live the same number of seconds as me before I see him again, like we’re running parallel on the same track, but we’re also running at exactly the same pace, even though he’s guaranteed to look way better in those running shorts. I’m probably in khakis. Whatever.

TWELVE. ELEVEN. TEN.

Lat pull-downs now. These are always sort of a fun little distraction from the rest of the workout, cause in between reps I can pretend for a fraction of a second like I’m floating off my seat, which is probably a sign that Gary’s pushed the weight a little high, but it’s worth it. I do wonder if this is Gary’s career or his side hustle. He could do lots of stuff, he’s got the charisma, the looks for sure, but he’s got this something about him that says this is his true passion. I dunno, it’s unfair for anybody to be treated like they’re living in a side quest, but I’m sad at the idea that anybody’s dream is to help rich assholes feel like they’re being healthy.

HOLD IT. HOOOOOOOLD IT.

Cause who am I? Sure, I’ve got enough vanity to spend the money on personal training, but it’s not because I’m swimming in cash, I feel like I really do care. I want to do well with the time I have at the gym, and whenever I tried working out on my own I just spent 5 minutes scrolling Instagram by the locker room before wandering to the elliptical that I know won’t force me to go above level 3 resistance. You know, it looks like you’re working a lot harder than you are on that thing, and there’s a TV. See what I mean? Thus, Gary.

NICE JOB, AND REST.

Oh ho hooo, Gary, that I can do.