My conference call ran long, so I had the unpleasant certainty that I would not get to the gym before 5. This was a bad sign. It was one of those days when all I wanted was to find a treadmill and run mindlessly, with no distractions or interruptions.
By the time I got to the cardio room all of Coral Ridge and most of Wilton Manors were already there. I looked around and sighed deeply: there was not a single treadmill available that I could use. Unhappily, I prepared to wait, and I hate to wait – for anything, but especially a treadmill.
I was still waiting when the Fitness Director walked by. I know her because, by coincidence, she bought my Mom’s condo when my mom moved in with my sister. Unfortunately, the sale closed on the very day when condo prices began to fall and now the condo is worth approximately 50% of what the Fitness Director actually paid for it. It’s amazing she talks to me at all.
“Bad day?” The Director asked me, which was all I needed to let her know that the gym really needs more treadmills. I mentioned that the new gym down the street has more treadmills and fewer members. I hinted darkly that once my membership expired I might just join that other gym.
The Director was stunned; she pointed out that the gym has 36 treadmills and at least 12 were empty. I was in no mood for logic. “I didn’t say there were no treadmills,” I said; ”I said there were none I could use.” She didn’t get it, so explained:
Treadmill #1 was near the top of the stairs: if I ran on #1 I would constantly be interrupted by friends and neighbors coming up the stairs. Treadmill #5 was directly under an air vent that dried out my contact lenses while Treadmill #8 was in a strange little dead zone where the temperature was considerably higher than anywhere else in the gym. Treadmill #12 was in front of a TV tuned in to a cable news channel with commentary that infuriates me. “Don’t listen,” said the Director, but I pointed out it was closed-captioned.
The Director pointed out that #14 was empty, but #14 was downwind from #13, and the lady on #13 wore way too much cologne. Similarly, Treadmill #16 was empty, but the man on #17 sang along with his I-Pod. “That bad?” said the Director. “Michael Bolton,” I said and she saw my point.
In this manner I eliminated #26, because the man on #25 had poor personal hygiene and #28 because it was between #27 and #29, which were occupied by a couple going through a bitter divorce: they yelled at each other across whoever was running on #28. Inspired, the Director pointed out that #32 was open, but I nixed it because it was directly behind the guy who was running on #20. The Director could not understand what was wrong with the guy on #20, although she wondered why he was wearing a sweater to exercise. “That’s not a sweater,” I said and she looked a little ill.
In the end, I took #33, even though #34 was empty and I worried about who might occupy it. Moments later, I was running happily when I heard a shrill voice calling my name. It was Betsy, a neighbor who is renowned for her idiocy, and willingness to broadcast it. “How nice!” she said, “Now we can chat.” I sighed bitterly, thinking that in Coral Ridge you can run but you cannot hide.