Panting I press the button that increases the speed, the resistance level. The rhythmic sound of machines and feet is semi drowned out by my headphones. Next to me, I eavesdrop as an old man with a deep voice talks to a young man. His story telling voice mentions something about being grateful to be here, to be out of the struggle in the Sudan.
I glance up at the overhead television and the flashing pictures of Middle Eastern chaos. I am grateful too, I think. Without meaning to, I glance at him. He catches my eye, he nods to me and to himself. I smile back.
Somewhere around half way through, I realize he is struggling to keep going and that somehow we have established solidarity. He needs to stop to rest, to breath, to mop sweat from his silver white hair, before he can keep going. When he pauses, his thin arms shaking, he looks over at my machine's display. I pull the towel back from covering the summary, showing the level and time remaining. He nods again and continues.
For the last ten minutes I max out the level of resistance and push through as my heart flops like a soggy tomato in my chest, desperate to escape. I close my eyes in the last two and focus on just breathing, just moving. I am relieved as it mellows out in the ‘cool down’ and the setting automatically kicks down the level. Soon I can hear over the roaring blood in my hands.
I get to the end and remember my gym ‘friend’ and look over. He has made it too. He smiles at me and says quietly, “It is good. Good.” I smile back and go my own way.
I glance up at the overhead television and the flashing pictures of Middle Eastern chaos. I am grateful too, I think. Without meaning to, I glance at him. He catches my eye, he nods to me and to himself. I smile back.
Somewhere around half way through, I realize he is struggling to keep going and that somehow we have established solidarity. He needs to stop to rest, to breath, to mop sweat from his silver white hair, before he can keep going. When he pauses, his thin arms shaking, he looks over at my machine's display. I pull the towel back from covering the summary, showing the level and time remaining. He nods again and continues.
For the last ten minutes I max out the level of resistance and push through as my heart flops like a soggy tomato in my chest, desperate to escape. I close my eyes in the last two and focus on just breathing, just moving. I am relieved as it mellows out in the ‘cool down’ and the setting automatically kicks down the level. Soon I can hear over the roaring blood in my hands.
I get to the end and remember my gym ‘friend’ and look over. He has made it too. He smiles at me and says quietly, “It is good. Good.” I smile back and go my own way.
