We were in a park. A darned nice park, secluded, overlooking the ocean. Up walks a guy we’ll call Larry (I like to give strangers names, I find that it makes my snap judgments about them more personal). Now, there are lots of reasons why people may seek out a spot like this. Dog-walking seemed popular, there were some nature-seekers and first-cup-of-the-morning coffee drinkers. I saw angry people who seemed to be intent on meditating who clearly thought the park was theirs and viewed us as trespassers. But this is a story about Larry and people who share his specific defect.

Larry had a giant backpack, or more accurately, a big ball bag like a youth soccer coach would lug to the practice field. He very much wanted every person within viewing distance to believe that he had just hiked into this little park from hundreds of miles away because, you see, Larry is a FITNESS person … and, as we know, a fitness person only does what he or she does so the rest of the world will see it. The fitness game is all for show, of course, and the exercise routine MUST be seen by other people because, in the mind of fitness guy, all other creatures are envious of his cardio and pliability and percentage of body fat. This delusion drives every fiber of his being.

So Larry hikes in and he walks around the perimeter, studying, like a sheepdog sniffing for the perfect place to piss. He’s making sure he is seen. At the edge of the park, there is a sheer dropoff down to the ocean and he stands there, looks down and I’m thinking holy crap! he’s got a parachute in that bag and he’s gonna jump but he didn’t and he doesn’t. The whole time he’s casing the joint, he’s leaning and kinda stretching and huffing and puffing like a super heavyweight weight lifter about to attempt a five-hundred-pound snatch lift.

Fifteen minutes later he’s found the ideal spot. He sets down his bag and proceeds to pull out ninety-seven separate items like a magician at a kiddie carnival. First, there comes what appears to be a blanket but upon closer inspection, it’s one of those rubber mats, and it soon becomes clear that he’s gonna get in a fuckin’ workout right here in the park. What a tool. We were embarrassed for him.

In his bag of tricks Larry had a medicine ball, those stretchy band things, he’s got fuckin’ portable weights and an assortment of items that you only see in martial arts movies. He pulled out a samurai headband, some boxing gloves and a speaker that played white noise. Using twelve little sticks he assembled one long stick. After about half an hour, his fitness bag was empty. His gear occupied about twenty square-feet.

The last thing he did before his workout was to wrap his knees and elbows with Ace bandages. Apparently, the action was going to get rough so you better have some extra support, and besides, clunky, old-school wraps tell the outside world that you’re a true workout warrior.

While he did manage to touch every apparatus on his blanket, Larry’s total “training” time could not have exceeded ten minutes. For those of you keeping score at home, that would be twenty minutes of setup and just ten minutes of activity. He laid on his back and lifted his little portable weights to the sky twice; he picked up the long stick and held it out in front of him while he did a deep knee bend or two; he tossed the medicine ball and it almost rolled off the cliff; he put on the boxing gloves and shadowboxed for thirty seconds, all the while making what he must have thought were boxing sounds. He cooled down with toe touches and some sort of yoga maneuver.

When our laughter subsided (there was no way to conceal it at that point) all we could say was “That Larry is one fit fuck”. We mourned the fact that we could never return to the park, the risk of more fitness trauma being just too great, and we wondered aloud how Larry would harness the strength to pack up all that gear after his epic training session.

This is what fitness guy looks like to the average citizen, which explains why that average citizen remains pudgy – if Larry is the model, then the price of fitness is just too high. Friends don’t let friends be Larry.

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