Tid til at finde tilbage. Til at bryde mønstre. Til at genkende.
So here I am. It’s Sunday morning and as good a day as any for starting up, after much too long. So I click in and start adjusting the pressure nob, while thinking how good it feels to be back. That’s until fifteen minutes later, legs screaming and lungs on their way up, that little guy on my left shoulder (the red one) says ARE YOU NUTS??!! ON A SUNDAY??!!
Next thing I know, the girl in front of me starts shouting stuff like: Give me more, give me more!!
And I think to myself -yeah right, eat my shorts! only to have that thought replaced by: alright B… I’ll give you!! Game on!!
The next thing is the time-fight. Does it ever end, man?! How long do I have to go yet?!
Acid pouring into my thighs like a flood, arms like candy floss. Hell is nowhere but now.
Then I drift. Into another realm, where thoughts of a distant past, the future, my kid and the woman I love, pass on by.
All the while, legs in a mixture of awe and chock, as we press on.
The other guy, (the little blue one) on the right shoulder goes: oh yeah, well done my man!!!
You will feel better about yourself after!
I don’t like the girl shouting at me. Neither do I concur with the choice of music for this kind of exercise. Maybe I’m just too damn old. In spirit that is, looking around at all the other mid-aged guys, legs burning and sweat coming down their ear lobes. They look weird and aweful, pathetic.
As do I.
Moments later, stretching and talking to others, the whole thing turns into bliss. The shower does the final trick.
And then, like nothing happened, the day begins.