He stood in shockingly minimal relief of the tan wall, his own verging on mustard color suit nearly matching the background. The corner of the office that was visible was surprisingly bare as well, with only the edge of a well ordered desk visible and a rectangular, corded(!) phone lifted from the receiver and resting in his hand. The entirety of the scene featured the grainy quality of pre-digital video, the kind with the long vertical stripes running through the frame. While initially his head was down, nearly resting against the wall in a pose indicating some sort of penance (perhaps it was for the suit), now he began to turn and face where one would imagine the camera might be.
He was solidly built, probably an ex-athlete, with a shock of blond hair resting in an unruly cloud on top of his head. The mustard suit was covering a plain white collared shirt with no tie, unbuttoned far down enough to be unsettling. He took up a position equidistant to the phone base on the wall and the desk, pointing the receiver towards his potential audience.
“As a lawyer, I rely on two things to best help my clients,” He began. “One, this phone to ensure vital communication with the people I serve. This cord indicates reliability and stability, and that is what I seek to bring to you. The second thing is . . .”
He moved to the wall to hang up the phone, and then followed it parallel away from the desk. Into view comes first one, and then a second steel beam, matte black, positioned about shoulder-width apart and running from the floor out of frame toward the ceiling. Swiftly moving to the base of this setup, the lawyer turned and faced out with his back against the wall. Two small platforms rested at floor level, each a little larger than the size of his feet, which he placed in the apparatus, and featured a locking mechanism the slid over the top of both the foot and shin. There was no noticeable noise as both platforms began to simultaneously rise.
The grain faded from the scene, and what originally appeared to be an old commercial from the nineteen eighties was replaced with sharp, digital clarity of a cavernous warehouse space, the law office and elevator assembly being revealed as merely a set piece within vast space. The lawyer emerged onto a platform near the top of the set, no longer in his mustard suit but instead donning a sleek black safety harness and chest protector. Extending away from the platform were a series of ceiling-mounted projections from which one could hang and then trace a path down to the nearest side of the set, starting with a set of dumbbells resting with the weight on either side of a pair rounded bars. One had to stick their hands between the rounded bars and grasp the center of the dumbbells, and then work their way down the track by pushing up and then forward, dragging their body behind until they reached a transition point. At the transition point, the bars angled down and into a curve, a ride which tested one’s grip strength and endurance as they crashed to a sudden end with plates welded onto the bars to stop the momentum before the next step.
The lawyer was already off of the lift and grasping at the dumbbells while continuing his statement. “This system that keeps me in top physical shape, which also keeps me on top of my mental game.” He had already worked his way across the initial expanse and was beginning to slide down the arc. The jarring stop registered little on his form, and he reached for what appeared to be an enormous paddle that then revealed itself to actually be an array of five oar-shaped chunks of metal, with only the smooth surface providing purchase and all connected flimsily to a single point. Moving through this latest obstacle, he intoned, “You too can have this setup to achieve your maximum physical and mental abilities in your own home . . .”
It was at this point I found myself. Standing at the edge of the set, the stage rising above me, I marveled at the insanity of it all. Who would use such a thing? How much would it cost you to build it? How much room did you need, and did anyone have a room that big? Someone shouted out to the descending lawyer, “How much?” The reply was cut short as the world went black and then reconfigured itself as my bedroom ceiling.
A dream? Truly a bizarre one, in fact strange enough that I began to commit some details to memory so that I could relay the story. Was watching a season of American Ninja Warrior a partial genesis for such a strange reverie? Probably. What reason did my brain have for conjuring up some unholy combination of Woody Harrelson, Owen Wilson, and Steve Lyons (the ex-baseball player and annoying Dodgers non-Vin Scully TV announcer) as the lawyer? I have no idea, but it might technically qualify this as a nightmare. And, finally, what the . . .?
Weight: 227 Loss: 13 lbs – Running Yearly Mileage: 297.7 miles
Softball Stats: Game 1 – 3/3 (1.000), 2 2B, 2 R, 1 RBI Season – 3/3 (1.000), 2 2B, 2 R, 1 RBI
Fitocracy Level: 25 ID: disciplev1
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