Bad boy on a moped… – column

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It must have been forty+ years since I was in a gym. A chamfered corner in a hall on an industrial estate. It smelled of sweat, rust and something else. The devices had a high Flintstones factor. The standard line-up was provided by a few instructors' wardrobes and about 80% of the male part of an adjacent camp. The campers drank shakes, swallowed pills and squirted. They were all very wide.

Such occasions will no longer exist

At least I hope so. But when I decided that in the meantime my body needed more exercise than tinkering and walking the dog… Well, I heard from another senior that he not only visited a gym, but was even a customer at a sports villa. That something like that was relaxing and not threatening. That is how I ended up at Sportvilla Lomar. There, 'villa' turned out to be simply the marketing technical name for a modern box in a pit.

For all ages

Inside it was bright and clean. The visitors apparently ranged from 16 to 85 years old and they were estimated to be of all current genders or beliefs. The instructors M/F turned out to be young, friendly and skilled. Gym music will never become my favorite. But I think it's about the rhythm.

A funny meeting

Recently, when I was about to descend the stairs to the changing rooms/lower room, I met a spry-looking lady. We exchanged a few notes and went our way. Apparently we ran about the same senior maintenance program so we ran into each other regularly during the exchange of torture devices. As we passed, we made friendly remarks. We were having a good time.

Somewhere at the end of the session we were chatting

Apparently we shared a kind of putative humor. The lady was bright, sharp and alert. At some point, we got mildly accustomed to age limitations. The lady asked me with a neatly plucked raised eyebrow: "But how old are you?" I didn't want to pretend to be younger than I am: "67 years old, but I'd be proud if you were my youngest sister." My interlocutor smiled coquettishly wiping a lock of her forehead. Funny: in every woman there is a girl and in every girl there is a princess.

“Hey! When you get older I hope you get a better view of people. I am 85.” Sometimes, for practical reasons, you have to pretend to be surprised. In this case, my surprise was not played out. We ended the conversation with a smile and went to the respective changing rooms.

Farewell with a smile

Later, when I was kicking my good old free-range animal outside, the princess from a moment ago also came out. Her car turned out to be opposite my motorcycle. She turned to me. Put her hands on her side and beamed: "I thought so: You're just a rascal with a moped."

Such a nice gym

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