my kinda cardio

This Is My Life, Rated
Life:	6.1
Mind:	5.7
Body:	7.3
Spirit:	6.8
Friends/Family:	3.7
Love:	2.1
Finance:	6.8
Take the Rate My Life Quiz

yes, yes, yes...my life may very well be lacking in romance these days, but i totally disagree with the friends/family rating, and i don't know how the hell my finances got such a decent score...they have clearly not seen my checking account balance. perhaps they believe in the less is more principle?

love and romance is such a tricky thing. one wants it, but one can't very well make it happen. i mean, you can put yourself out there, open up your crooked little heart, and welcome a little lovebird to alight itself upon your shoulder, but beebee guns and nets don't work. i mean, they do. you can shoot the poor sucker down, but if it survives it's liable to be mighty pissed off and not charmed by your wiles...no matter your new Bath and Body Works Vanilla Love body spray or Maureen Dowd-ish witticisms and well-blown-out hair.

but i saw something today that quenched my parched little 2.1-rated heart with a new Gatorade flava called Hope:

first day back at the gym in a week (or two?), i'm jogging along on the treadmill, my earbuds firmly nestled into my ears, the typical Treadmill Treatise coursing thru my brain:

hold your stomach in.

move from the core.

don't let your legs go slack, you'll hurt your knees.

egads, how much longer?

hold your stomach in.

i'd kill for a cup of hazelnut coffee with half and half.

move from the core, dammit!

bagel...please...now.

jesus, this is boring.

can i do this and sleep at the same time?

why aren't i outside in the sunlight doing this?

because you are a creature of habit comforted by the droning safety of the treadmill.

please don't let your legs go slack. tendonitis is a beeatch.

then, in a split second, i was charmed. taken right outta my Cardio Coma and thrust into the Present Perfect.

directly across from me was an elderly couple. she on the stationary bike. he on the treadmill. i see them at the gym frequently, but we've never spoken. they must be in their late 70s/early 80s. she moves with a difficulty and extreme caution that hints at her having had a stroke in the recent past; he does not. he's quite spry and trudges along on the treadmill beside her with an enviable pounding enthusiasm, proof positive that youth is, in fact, wasted on the young and miserable.

today, she sat on her bike, winded and a bit piqued after her workout. she turned to look at him, and between a huff and a puff, he kissed his fingertips and blew her a kiss. a soft, slow smile spread across her face, and then as if on cue, his lips did the same. oh, thank heavens! romance isn't dead! it's alive and well at the Astoria Sports Club in two perfectly matched smiles, and one stranger's heart going pitter patter...mine.

tee hee hee.

oh joy. i think my rating just went up a notch.