Sunday, December 20, 2009

Fat Lady on a Treadmill - Day Twenty-three

Things didn’t start out so well at the pit today. My plastic water bottle slid/fell/was pushed off the bench in the locker room and hit the tile floor where it promptly deposited all its contents on the floor via the new spout in the bottom of the bottle. Not to worry, there was a floor drain nearby and a water fountain in the pit. I’m in need of some retail therapy anyway to alleviate my homesickness for New Jersey and the major snowstorm I’m missing. I know, you think I’m in need of a different kind of therapy based on that statement, and you may be correct. I’m one of the few people on the planet who loves a good snowstorm.

So I’m feeling a bit down and now I’m without my water bottle crutch, you know, the excuse I have to stop every five minutes. I try to look way cool, slow down, wipe the dew off my face and neck, swig some water, rev up the machine again and get the heart rate back up there. This doesn’t always work so well. I’ve been threatening to replace the water bottle anyway as it has a wide spout and sometimes more water goes down the front of my shirt than down my throat, so the new hole in the bottom of it isn’t all that disturbing, other than the I have no excuse to stop other than I’m gasping for air excuse and that one doesn’t look near so cool as the water one.

I’ve got some good music pounding in my head, checking out the other pit occupants, finding little in the way of eye candy or curiosities or even anyone of entertainment value today, so I turn my attention to the banks of televisions overhead. It’s a Sunday so the choices are, football, the weather channel which I’ve all ready explained is depressing for me today, Fox News and an infomercial. Lucky for me the infomercial is closed captioned so I can listen to my music and read along with the sales pitch at the same time.

I’m not much on infomercials. Can’t say I’ve ever really watched one. There’s this guy standing in front of a building with gardens that looks suspiciously like the south lawn of the White House and he’s telling me the wonders of this light therapy gizmo. From what I can tell it’s a hand sized, mitt like device that emits flashing red and blue light. This amazing device is the answer to every pain I’ve ever had, or will ever have. No longer do I have to suffer after a day at the pit. A few minutes on the sofa with the magic light gizmo and I’ll be good as new. I’m skeptical, but after hearing/reading the testimony of several house wives, a racehorse jockey, a business man with tennis elbow, and an orthopedic surgeon who treated a real Olympic athlete, I’m thinking this may be just the retail therapy I need.

I wait with bated breath, okay, gasping breath for the guy in the White House garden to tell me how much this is going to set me back. My eyes have been opened to a great medical truth and intelligent being that I am, I realize this must be the reason police cars are equipped with flashing red and blue lights. Not having ever had my face smashed into the hood of a police cruiser I can only speculate that the flashing lights make the pain of metal meeting flesh and having your arms yanked behind your back and handcuffs being slapped on so much less painful. How did this truth escape me all these years, I wonder? Nevermore will I cringe when I see the news video of an arrest or while watching Cops. Now I know the truth.

Please tell me how much this miracle device is! At last the friendly salesman comes back and tells me these retail other places for $2300. I’m devastated. The miracle machine is out of my financial reach. I knew I shouldn’t have sprung for the cruise for the family Christmas present. What was I thinking? I could have had the miracle light machine instead.

But wait! No, I can have it for three easy payments of $40 each and they’ll throw in the patented body belt for free. This is much better, however I must act in the next twenty minutes to get this unbelievable price. Since my phone is in the locker room and I’m not planning on being out of here in the next twenty minutes I hang my head in disappointment. Well, maybe it was because my head suddenly felt too heavy for my neck, but anyway. Just as I’ve given up all hope of owning the miracle machine the kindly salesman comes back to inform me that today, and today only I can have this marvel of medicine for only two, yes two low payments of $40 each!!!

It’s my lucky day! I’ve reached the 70th floor, the observation deck at Rockefeller Center only there’s no snow on my observation deck, so I climb down and head to the half rack. I stop by the water fountain for a not so cool drink on my way. By the time I get set up on the new machine I check back in with my kindly salesman only to find out that I’ve missed the all important phone number I need in order to take advantage of this amazing offer.

A few choice words pass my lips, hopefully masked by the wheezing and panting go on all around me. Oh well. I guess I’ll have to settle for a new water bottle. Next Sunday I’m going to pay closer attention and bring along a pad and pen.

Today’s tally – 70 floors, twenty minutes on the half rack and ten on the lounge chair bike, one broken water bottle and I missed the opportunity of a lifetime. I think that’s worth an extra M & M or two.

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