The gym owner did the class with us this afternoon.
He does it every day, I think, but I haven’t paid attention as to whether he attends the same class time every day or not.
Nonetheless, he worked out with us today, right?
Right.
Okay, two things.
Firstly, he verified that he intends fully to do the Murph workout next week using strict pull-ups only, no kipping – “Murph didn’t kip…” – and so expects to have a terrible time (of it, and literally, I suppose).
Secondly, at the end of the workout today, I hear someone walking behind me say, “Who picks stupid shit like that?”, clearly referencing the intense and exhausting workout we’d just finished in the crazy heat and humidity that make their appearances this time of year in Houston.
I turn, and, as I had already suspected, I see that the gym owner, himself, the fittest person I’ve ever known or seen in person, was the one who’d spoken.
I laugh a casual, “Ha,” and agree, “Right?”
After a brief pause, during which I consider many possible scenarios, but still settle on the original one as the most likely, I add, “You do pick out the workouts, though, right?”
He looks right at me and nods morosely, breathing through his mouth, and I crack a smile as, shaking his head slowly, he says, “Still stupid shit…”
And then I got to experience the beauty that is my abdomen at this point, flexing wonderfully in giggling laughter. π
Gotta love when people can speak honestly about the pains of doing a quality but extremely exhausting workout, especially when they know it’s because of them that everyone is suffering, you know?
And also that the one who puts us through the misery always makes sure to put himself through it, too.
I love our gym owner – he rocks on so many levels, and today was just another one of those levels shining brilliantly through.
Post-a-day 2019
