In a Prison

I got another weight workout in on Saturday, over my lunch hour from all-day bar review hell. Following along on the "in a prison" theme, I went over to the field house, where the oldest weights known to human kind are available to anyone who can produce legal I.D. to trade for a weight pin. I was lifting with a janitor in his uniform, a former varsity basketball player twice my size, an overweight and very sweaty guy who sat on the machines when resting between sets, and a wiry middle-aged woman who looked like she might be a professor. The weights are along the back wall and the main floor of the gym was curtained off for a gymnastics meet, so random snips of extremely peppy music would go on and off at irregular intervals and otherwise there was a lot of shouting. Gymnastics coaches walked by once in a while and regarded us weightlifters with suspicion. After my workout I went downstairs to the equally prison-like atmosphere of the women's lockerroom, where you have to check out a security pass card to get in and there are big panic buttons every 10 feet or so along the walls. My first time down there I bumped into a small blonde woman as I was coming out of the shower. I excused myself, but she just looked at me in terror and ran off. I suspect there are some stories to tell about that lockerroom, but I don't know them yet, thank God.

Then yesterday - Sunday - we went up to Dubuque for the Winter Iowa Games 5k. I came in third in my age group and got a bronze medal that Bubu likes. I found out later that I could have done nordic skiing instead, which I would have preferred, but I misread the schedule (or it was wrong).