25
Nov
Joggers Humor
North Wildwood's Boardwalk was deserted on a November morning, which began under hazy skies with the sun a blur behind a shroud of fog. During the summer months, the Boardwalk is choked with people, tourists from Philadelphia packing into honky-tonk shops and eateries serving fried delicacies and sweets. The amusement rides fill with screaming children and muscle-bound men win prizes for their girlfriends at game booths. They spend $20 to pop balloons or squirt a water pistol into a clown's mouth for the reward of an ugly stuffed animal. Yet after the summer fades into autumn, the crowds vanish, the lights dim and the rides are shut down. The once vibrant carnival atmosphere transforms into a ghost town, a garish village of leering clowns, shuttered storefronts and rusty padlocked gates. Rollercoasters resemble the backbones of gargantuan prehistoric snakes left to bleach in the autumn winds. The stores and shops empty and bereft of life, and the curious painted signs appear dull and grey in the cold winds.While on the machine, I inspected my new club. It was compact, and every square inch of it was filled with equipment. The machines were shoulder-to-shoulder; so close that big arm movements were out of the question. In fact, my ski machine was in a traffic path, and I frequently had to cease all arm motion entirely to allow members to wander by. I say wander because that's what they were doing, wandering around the gym in a philosophical anomie, apparently tormented by the unanswerable question "why are we here?" That comes up for me too at the gym, but usually, I just keep going, knowing that I will be out of "here" before I know it, and why I was ever even "there" in the first place won't matter. Often I saw them sitting on the bench, staring into space like they do in those French movies; or else, holding their heads in their hands in a gym-induced despair. Several of them lay on the floor, staring up at the ceiling, lifting a leg occasionally, then pausing to think. When one of them made it to a machine, it was with great resignation and then cursory involvement. Even my friend Louise, who met me there one morning after my workout, noticed it. Rowers rowed lazily, as if it were a Sunday on the lake; skiers trudged along, stopping frequently to decrease tensions, which were already at their lowest points; bike riders got off and on changing bikes and moving their seats around. Free weights were lifted casually by their user; three or four times, no more; and everybody kept milling around reporting to the trainer for pulse checks. They would hold out their arms without speaking. Zombie check! And everybody was looking at me, probably because I was actually working out, sweating and everything. B kept coming by and asking me if I was ok. There was a note of concern in his voice. All this just made me work harder, ski faster. Normally I am a blob compared to the beautiful people in spandex who surround me; but here--I was an Amazon. And a show-off. People watching me just egg me on.Gallery:
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