7:23am. GoodLife Gym at Bloor and Yonge.
I’ve just finished my workout by stretching my back in a chubby arc. I like doing that because in my head I’m hissing like a cartoon Halloween cat.
The stretching area is fairly busy and space is a premium. As I haul my girth up off my mat, a pocket bear approached me and asked if I was done with my meagre floor area.
“Yes!” I say and reach down to remove my water bottle.
Flash back to June 2010. Sharkboy and I are riding bikes along the Lakeshore and we come to a stoplight. Normal stuff. As soon as we stop all forward motion and my feet are firmly on the ground, there is a pause and I fall over. It’s an amazing site. Standing still, straddling a bike to on the ground in seconds. It looked like those collapsing horsie toys with the button underneath the stand but insert a bike between the legs. I wasn’t graceful going down. Balance and I are like diametrically opposite college roommates at the end of a long winter term – we get along for the most part but one of us pees in the shower.
Back to the now.
As I reach down, the combination of just finishing 60 sit ups, 40 min of cardio and various other “Please keep me young” exercises messes with my inner ear so much that Balance kicks out the chocks that keep me upright and I stumble.
I stumble reaching for a freaking water bottle.