Well, in a fit of what can only be rampant Xtopher’s persistent survival, today at the gym I found myself caught between two of my ongoing musings:

The Red Shirt Diaries and Fitfy.

Just a real quick glimpse for you into what happens when those two worlds collide…we’ll call it Fitfy 49.7 and The Red Shirt Diaries #8.  Don’t worry, I am sure I’ll find more to share on the whole Fitfy phenomenon later in the week for the half dozen of you with nothing better to do than wonder whether I’m eating right and exercising…we’ll call that Fitfy 49.7.5 but don’t look for it until Saturday, my work schedule changed a little this week.  The upside is that I get a mid-week break from my early mornings.  The downside?  Well, there really isn’t one that I can think of.

Since I’m off today and working Friday, that effectively ruins my standing Friday morning coffee – and occasional gym – date with The Silver Fox.  I made sure to tap him for coffee this morning.  Can’t have my best friend feeling neglected.  He accepted, but seemingly on the condition that we actually go to the gym after instead of just talking about it.

So, really, this is all his fault, now that I type it out.

I wake up at 7, after a luxurious eight and a half hours of solid sleep.  Seriously, this was some coffin sleep if I ever have experienced it.

Coffin Sleep, for those unfamiliar, is basically falling asleep on your back and sleeping so deeply that you wake up in pretty much the same position you fell asleep in.  No tossing, no turning.  Just sleeping.  The repose is reminiscent, I suppose, of a body in a casket, hence the name.

I felt friggin’ fantastic.

Naturally, I resisted getting out of bed, even though I was completely refreshed.  I laid in bed for an hour and a half; playing Words With Friends, checking The Facebook and Instagram and reading news…then I texted The Fox and shared my self-indulgence.  Turns out that he’d been engaged in basically the same.

We met up for coffee about 20 minutes later, dressed for the gym.  Me, freshly showered, because that’s how I go to the gym.

Coffee passed with our normal blend of chatter and phone checking, either for additional discussion topics or to phone fact check something in our conversation.  I think most of the latter was related to his recent re-decent into the rabbit hole that is Game of Thrones…what I recall with certainty was IMDb entering into the equation.

 

No, wait…he was looking at IMDb because we started chuckling at a meme he had sent me, which brought Jessica Walters into the conversation.Naturally, that created a tangent, as often happens with our conversational relationship, and I wondered aloud whether Jessica Walters was yet 75.  Seventy-six, it turned out, a fact he shared right before he realized that she had been in Play Misty for Me and shortly thereafter he started waxing nostalgic about Clint Eastwood playing Rowdy Yates.

Neverthemess…we make our way over to the gym and find our respective favorite cardio machines.  His is a couple rows back and over to the left from mine.  I’m well aware of this fact, but don’t usually check on him, outside of an occasional text to see where either of is in the progress of our sesh.  That said, I wasn’t surprised to get a text from him at about the 55 minute mark.  I was surprised that it said he’d taken a pee break and needed 15 more minutes.

Here’s what he missed:

Me, almost dying.

I was huffing and puffing away on my elliptical when I got this weird feeling in my stomach, right below my sternum.  I thought maybe I swallowed wrong and took a couple of deep breaths and a swig of water to clear it.

Nevertheless, it persisted.

Of course, I started to worry that something was wrong.  Well, not something generic, specifically:  abdominal aneurysm.

I grab the handholds and just brace for the worst, hoping I don’t shit myself in the gym as my circulatory system makes like the Oroville Dam and I ride out of this world like Fred Sanford.

Of course, having successfully failed at finding a partner to spend my life with, there’s no Elizabeth for me.  I’m just hoping I don’t get “Carried” at the Pearly Gates.

Of course, amusing myself with Fred Sanford and the Sanford & Son theme playing in my head whilst dying at the gym prevents me from realizing that I’m in good company…Douglas Adams having suffered a similarly public demise.

Of course, that wah-wah-wah-dum theme music in my head also prevented me from following the life lessons Douglas Adams tried to impart in one of my favorite books of his – The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.  Namely:

And, of course, everything was alright.

Seventy-five minutes of cardio, a haircut and a shower later, I was having a delicious mexican lunch with The Fox, including a well deserved margarita to calm my near-death nerves.