lunes, 18 de octubre de 2010
miércoles, 17 de febrero de 2010
There’s a guy in the gym who behaves strangely. I'll tell you why. He always enters the room running about not because he’s warming up but he wants to use one of the exercise bikes and he does so to stop anyone to utilise it first. His sport gear also excels, especially thanks to a pair of tracksuit pants he has pulled up almost to his armpits. But the best bit starts when he pedals on the bike. He clenches his jaw with effort, his face turns red and pedalling sways his body from right to left due to his determination, but also he doesn’t stare at anything or anybody as if he was high and he moves himself so much so that the bike ends up perpendicular to others bikes lined up. Moreover, yesterday he grabbed a couple of weights that I was using without turning a head and that I left just for one second on a mat and he begun to exercise his arms with no rhythm whatsoever putting them up and down with a grimace on his face as always does when he tries to win Le Tour on his bike... But that’s not all folks. When he sits down on a sport machine and he works out, he puts down the weights with no measure making therefore a deafening noise that give us a fright and make us jump out of our place. Also same face and lack of rhythm. And I carry on: yesterday, after his gym session, he went to have a shower to the changing room and he wandered round naked for almost five minutes holding his mobile, I guess waiting for a phone call or expecting to receive one... Strange. Very strange.
However, I don’t make any fun of him. He’s funny indeed, but I couldn’t crack a smile showing up mockery or disdain. This guy gives out a halo of kindness and innocence and he seems to be quite neglected. Reality is sometimes never as it seems, but just by looking at him I’ve developed a certain empathy which is causing me little trouble. Yesterday, the gym manager told him off when he realised that the exercise bike has moved away half metre from its initial position and I have to say that I couldn’t help to feel myself intimidated and upset listening to them. He carried on showing a naive face, tight jaws, red as a tomato but still pedalling, rhythm lowered and downhearted. And that’s what is like to be empathetic, although in that case is a bit unreal. I’m a professed empathetic... Would that get any cure?