Ghost

Back on the spinner and Ghost is a no show - again! She's wise to avoid me in these situations, I'll suck up all her oxygen, my well honed machine of a body craves more air, more pain, more spin and more beer to deal with the pain of being ... me. Ghost frequently whispers faint excuses to me through electronic media...

"I blew my knee out..."

"I knocked over a gas station and couldn't make bail..."

"I don't like you..."

LT is amusing herself by putting us through something called a "pyramid." Its intervals with the work time going from 20 to 40 to 60 seconds and then back down. The rest interval remaining pretty much the same unless you ask LT about her dog or something else I couldn't make out in the crappy gym acoustics.

Sweaty dude to my right, who needs to be named, blows the dog question.

LT's brow furrows, her voice thundering like an enraged Wizard of Oz, "OK, pick it up, let's go!" cutting short the rest interval.

I want to puke, I glance across the basketball court judging if I can make it to the trash can. It's so far, so very far. I keep up the sprint instead. If I'm going to puke then it might as well be EPIC! I swig more water adding fuel to the fire. I take small solace knowing how disappointed Ghost would be not seeing me puking all over the bike. Too bad Ghost.

Maybe I'll die instead, yeah that's what's needed in these situations. OK too dramatic, passing out is an option. I glance up and LT is doing stretches at an easy cadence.

It's over?

Yep.

Too bad.

Oh, and I'm starting to lose weight despite my evil ways.