My parents recently enrolled in a gym called Fitness 19 – named such because it’s open 19 hours a day. Oh, Coloradans – you are so clever with your words!
Due to her recent surgeries, Mom hasn’t been to Fitness 19 in awhile – leaving her membership card available to yours truly. My workouts on Saturday and Sunday were awesome – convincing me that I might actually acclimate to Mile High altitude, finally get the runner’s booty, and basically win the Nashville half-marathon that I’m registered for in April. So last night, I went again.
I handed my (mom’s) card to the man behind the counter, and he scanned it. “Thanks, Susan,” he said. I smiled at him, and went to the magazine rack to choose some smut to read while on the treadmill.
“Wait – Susan?”
“Susan, I think there’s a problem.”
I slowly turned around and faced him.
“Susan, when is your birthday?”
My mind raced. “June 21.”
My mind raced even faster. “Nineteen fifty-fii… SHOOT.” I said it out loud. “SHOOT.”
“You were not born in the fifties.”
And then, some bizarre calm overtook me. Like a sociopath, I cooly stated, “You are right.”
He was serious. “This is not your card.”
Again, conscienceless, “No. It’s my mom’s.”
He was adamant. “You cannot work out using another person’s membership.”
“Okay.” Pregnant pause. “But can I work out right now?”
He let me run for 40 very awkward minutes on the treadmill. I ran like I have never run before. It will be the last that Fitness 19 ever sees of me.