You're looking at the leader board proclaiming me the master of the 95-pound bench press in the Cheyenne Regional Medical Center gym, a facility that has almost convinced me to pack up all my stuff and move to Cheyenne to be near.
The other day, on the way out of the gym, I noticed a massage chair with a sign on it saying, "free chair massage for members and guests." Hmm, I said, that's nice and continued walking out the door. But when I got to the parking lot, there was a giant thunderstorm in progress, with dime-sized hail. I couldn't even get to my car, so I walked back in and sat down in the chair. A hot 27-year-old guy proceeded to give me a 30-minute back massage while commenting on the exquisite paleness of my skin. I've been overtraining lately (Both the symptoms and reasons for this are too numerous to mention. Let's just say that I've always believed that the best way to outrun your demons is on the treadmill), but he worked out every knot. The best part? He majored in kinesthesiology and taught anatomy and he imparted many useful study tips. The only thing missing was the proverbial "happy ending."