Today I was working in our New York Office. It was something of a pleasure to reconvene with my old city homies: Norma, The Glamazon, Mamela, Jewels, Red and my newest colleague, Maytag. They are funny and affectionate and a pleasure to hang with. Within a very short time, we fell into our usual easy patois.
As is my habit, I had planned to go to the gym after work for a course of grappling followed by an hour of kick boxing, Alas, my aged body decided differently.
For the past five weeks, I have experienced an increased pain and tenderness in my right knee. The pain has continued to grow in this region at a low frequency and has now culminated in a sharp pain when I rise up from a low position (sitting and lying on the ground). I can't discern if the origin of the injury is from kickboxing, aggressive grappling, failure to warm up before I run, inappropriately high footwear, long hours commuting in stop-and-go-traffic (repetitive stress for applying gas and brake in the car) or premature arthritis. Regardless, it's reached a point that I need to address it.
Tonight, when I rose from my workspace to leave work had me wincing in pain. I limped to the gym. The Joshu took one look at me and said, "What is wrong with you?" I relayed the saga and he recommended a course of ice packs every 15 minutes, ibuprofen every six hours and some stretching exercises. He also recommends I table tonight's grappling class until Saturday so I can try to resolve my unknown injury. I acquiesced to his wisdom.
Feeling like a wimp and a geek, I left the gym. My knee is killing me. I ambled out like a crippled gypsy full of my weakness and diminishing vitality. At that moment, who should be walking by but my old friend Jewels. We literally ran into each other. We kibitz. Ten minutes later, we're in a bar on 8th Avenue chatting away.
He orders a Ketel One, rocks; I have a Lemon Drop martini. We talk about work. We talk about attractive co-workers. We talk about pets and our apartment renovations and maintenance increases. We discuss the new season on Broadway and Hilary Clinton's chances for the White House in 2008. We're suddenly distracted by a reporter who appears on TV--it's on CNN and her wide face fills the expansive plasma TV screen in the bar. Her name is Kitty Pilgrim. We immediately agree that if she changed her first name to Pussy, she'd have an enduring career in porn. This is fun. Another round, bartender.
We continue to talk. We relate the way Mamela's voice carries across the office. The highs and lows of driving. Jewels' sexy new short cropped 'do. And the necklace The Glamazon wore today to an industry luncheon. The Glamazon revealed to us all that the clapse on the necklace had broken and that she needed a quick fix. She adhered the ends with a safety pin and to assure that the pinned ends did not come into view, she duct taped the pinned end of the necklace to the back of her neck, camouflaging the repair from public view by her long hair. That is genius window dressing. Seriously.
Suddenly a diesel truck passes by the bar and noisily backfires. "Oh, excuse me!" exclaims Jewels while he dissects the contents of a skewer in his vodka, "Olives have that effect on me." We ordered another round.
Jewels goes to find a restroom. As I nurse my next martini, a man sitting at my right eyes my drink and says, "That looks good. Can I taste it?" I size him up--he is so not my type. I reply coolly, "I think not. I don't know where your mouth has been." Now if he had been my type, he would have told me where his mouth had been. Instead, this guy finished his drink and darted. Tsk. Amateur.
Jewels returns. We finish our drinks and head out. We grab a taxi and whisk up the West Side Highway. The cab windows are down and the night is oddly balmy. We lean back and enjoy the sensation of the breeze throughout the cab. Lovely. What's more, it is a pleasure being with my dear friend.
When I got home I muse on the odd circumstances of this night. I may never be the portrait of fitness in this life, but I will always embrace the fun of it.
2 comments:
May I suggest Pilates.
You will get a good work out and
it won't hurt you knee.
I think you're right, morewines. I went to a two hour kickboxing class this morning, feeling confident that my knee had recovered and alas, I now can barely walk. Old age is a bitch.
Post a Comment