Early yesterday evening Jon and I went to the gym and climbed on two elliptical trainers situated right next to each other. I had bought a People magazine so that I could read why Brad and Jen are leading — cue the song — Se-hep-rate Lives, while I burned as many calories as I could in a limited 30 minute period. Jon strapped the iPod to his shorts and plugged in his earphones. I could hear the nightclub/trance/repetitive boom boom boom, I am a gay man, are you a gay man? let’s dance! techno rhythm screaming in his ears.
When we got to the first incline in the program I noticed that Jon was going about eight times faster than I was, and I remembered that the last time he came here and worked out on these machines he got sick for three months. I turned to him and admonished, “Jon, pace yourself, pace yourself, we have a long way to go.”
He turned to me, read the words, “pace yourself” on my lips and then SHOUTED EVER SO EXCITEDLY, “I’M PUSHING IT!” so loudly that the flat screen televisions on the wall vibrated when hit with the sound waves. He saw the look of fear in my face and then SHOUTED, “WAS THAT LOUD? DID I SAY THAT LOUDLY?” All five people working out around us gave him a look that affirmed the obvious.
And without even letting me answer he pulled out one of his earphones and whispered so quietly I could barely hear him over the workout machines, “I’m pushing it, shhhh. I’m pushing it.”