Weblog entry:
- Fizzgig
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You step onto the treadmill, pausing to turn on your iPod. You scroll down to the “Workout” mix, plug in your earphones, and start your run. You focus on the far side of the gym, try to look past the few dozen people jogging around you: you write for three people to keep your nerves at bay, so you might as well try and run for one. Your playlist starts, the treadmill works up speed, and you begin your run.
About a half mile in, the adrenaline kicks in as the Crystal Method comes into rotation, which is never a happy combination. You realize it is by will alone you set your feet in motion, racing in place in time with the percussion. Suddenly, you’re no mere web designer: you’re focused, fast, deadly. You’re Robert fucking Patrick in Terminator 2, asking if they’ve seen that boy, your arms moving so fast, so snicker-snack through the the ellipticals, the free weights, the slow and the sweaty. Bit Shifter clicks into play in minute fifteen, and you’re goddamn Thor: a cardiovascular god of pacing, perfection. You move, and the room moves beyond, through, over you.
You finish your run, and step off the treadmill. It’s then you remember that you’re just another web geek with a bad haircut and a desperate need to de-fat yourself at the gym. Time to go home and snarf down some ice cream after dinner, “Thor.” Nice one.
Oh, and try to lay off the white boy techno.
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- 19th day of April 2006.
- Filed under Story, Memory.
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