Music:i'm raving / i'm raving / but do i really feel the way i feel?
i'll be your mirror (ha, bythos, you're so clever)
i slipped off the treadmill, orange shirt stitched with sweat, and gathered my belongings. i stopped at the water cooler to refill the stainless steel container which proudly declared itself a green bottle even though it could only hope to fool protanopiacs and deuteranopiacs. i entered the weight room and scattered my belongings, spreading the blue-striped white towel on the weight bench so as not to slip and slide. i retrieved a pair of weights from the rack, laid them aside the bench, and as i straightened became aware that the guy who'd been two treadmills over and who had headed for the weight room maybe a mile before i did was trying to get my attention. i pulled my headphones off so i could hear him.
"hey, i just wanted to tell you i've never seen anyone happier to be running."
"oh, that's easy to explain," i said with a laugh. "i watch conan o'brien's show while i run."
"okay, okay, makes sense."
"i gotta have something to get me through, music or a show, i don't love running that much."
"ah, yeah, i feel you. stick with it. it's definitely working."
always nice to have a candid glimpse of the self you can't yourself observe. and funny to think of me ("you should smile more") being perceived as the happiest anything, let alone the happiest runner. to the extent a stranger was compelled to remark on it. coco's mojo is incontrovertible.