After I chose a treadmill on the opposite side of the gym from the Woman With Big Elbows (because she scares me), I was punished by three pregnant woman choosing the ellipticals behind me as the site of their conversation about nursery paint. I asked myself why I even come to gym. The answer came in the form of contrasts.
I want to run 2.75 miles. I don’t want to run 2.75 miles faster.
I want my pants to get bigger before they get smaller. I don’t want to need smaller pants.
I want the missing Boy Scout to come home. I don’t want to watch about him on CNN.
I want to like soy milk. I don’t want it to make me skinny.
(The televisions at the gym seriously interfere with my thinking)
I want this run to be over. I don’t want to get to work.
I want a complete dissertation. I don’t want to write it.
I want to talk to Zooey and Lyman.* I don’t want to talk to my adviser.
And with that last one, I hit 2.75 and went home.