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An Unusual Conversation In My Gym
Why a simple household chore might save a marriage
I have an eye for the fit and graceful exercisers at my gym. Not in a creepy way — I’m twenty years older than most of them, so that would be weird — but as someone who came to fitness late in life, I admire effortless movement.
I know the names of all the gym’s fittest members. To avoid accusations of selective memory (i.e., only remembering the names of the “eye candy”), I learned the names of everyone else too — including the men and women still swinging dumbbells like tambourines.
This name-knowing strategy has its perks: if someone is blocking the dumbbell rack and I’m too tired for social pleasantries, I can just call their name. Works like a charm.
One of the ultra-fit guys — Suresh, master of push-ups — is getting married next fortnight. The gym chatter around him was full of advice, ranging from honeymoon destinations to taking multivitamins. I stayed out of it — I don’t know Suresh, I just know his name. But later, between sets, the multivitamin guy, Rohit, started talking to me about something else entirely: divorce.
