I’m a gym rat.  I go three to four times a week.  That said, I’m not in any sort of “shape” by gym rat standards.

It’s my 30 minute vacation.  It’s me an my earbuds, some good music and the weights burning off stress.

I work out at the Y.  I prefer the more laid back atmosphere there to the mead head culture of chain gyms.

Every once in a while, the gym is invaded by a group of teenagers with their varsity sports shirts doing as much jaw-jacking and time wasting as actual working out.  The problem is that they like to take up space on the equipment and waste my time as well.

So a bunch of them are hanging out by the multi cable machine.

There is nothing like walking right into the middle of the group, weight belt barely holding in the gut on my 280 lbs frame, a patch of gray in my beard, grabbing the pull-up bar and knocking out a dozen perfect pull-ups like a Marine recruit.

The looks on their faces is, especially Mr. High School Jock’s girlfriend’s, was priceless.

They just don’t expect a fat old man to show them up like that.

It’s the little things in life that sometimes give the most pleasure.