Whenever my second grade teacher, Mrs. Kleinstuber wrote on the chalkboard, the loose flesh of her arms flopped around so violently that the children gasped in fear. I started a little gambling circuit and took action on whether she was going to be the first person to be knocked cold by her own arm flab. It never happened, but it would have been monumental.
Also monumental is the day you see your own arm flab flopping when it shouldn’t. Since the past few years haven’t been conducive to maintaining a gym regimen, all of the weights I had lifted revolted and tacked themselves to the back of my arms as very soft tissue. So I started lifting again. The weights are lighter now, but after a couple of months my arms stopped their disgusting jiggle dance. I’ve lost about ten pounds and am getting ready for Speedo weather (although my daughters maintain there is no proper climate for that).
This led to Saturday morning when I was headed out for a run. For the first time in a while, it was warm enough for short sleeves. My lovely wife (LW) was getting ready to go to a meeting when I left which gave me a great idea. If I timed my run correctly and altered my course slightly, I could be running along the road as she drove by and maybe grab her attention with my improved physique!
So I dashed away – head held high, back straight, arms tight. Down the big hill and onto the straightaway thinking she would see me at any moment and maybe even honk or whistle! Nothing. Just other cars. Undaunted, I kept running the next mile majestically – like Achilles headed into battle… until I came to the split where she would turn off. Still nothing. My route included about two miles that she wouldn’t travel, so I figured I could cruise those and maybe catch her on the return trip.
That’s where it happened. I got cat-called. Not by my wife… by someone in a blue car! At first, I was in shock. “Did that really happen?” I wondered. I mean, who does that? We aren’t in Italy and I don’t look like that tourist. I honestly felt insulted. All my life I have tried to keep that kind of thing in check and not stare, drool, or whistle at the opposite sex. Now, here I am on the other end of a lustful attack.
The blue car pulled to a light which gave me time to see the girl who had demeaned me. To my surprise, she was young and quite cute. What are they teaching kids these days? She actually had her tongue out as she looked me up and down. This was too much! I became very uncomfortable under the passion of her leering gaze. Fortunately, the light turned green and the driver sped away – probably embarrassed by her, as well.
Soon I was back on the stretch where I might run past LW. Before I tackled the hill that loomed between me and home, I doubled back a few times and ran the nice, flat spot trying to look my best. No dice. I must have missed her while I was being assaulted, so I started up the ¾ mile hill affectionately dubbed, “Suck Hill”.
My lungs cried out for air near the top like a hiker on Kilimanjaro. I was wrecked from the extra mileage of the flat spots where I’d hoped to impress. Just when I almost crumbled to the ground in exhaustion, I heard the little honk of LW’s minivan.
That didn’t quite go as planned. Rather than saying, “That’s my man!” as she drove past she was probably thinking, “I hope he doesn’t sweat on the carpet.”
Oh well, at least I did get cat-called!
To you, golden retriever who hung your tongue out of the blue car and barked at me, if your driver won’t take you on a run, I’ll take you next time. Thanks for making me feel wanted.