I think. We were warming up before a squat workout and the minute the Engineer turned his back and hared off to the elliptical machine, this young stud in a baseball cap over lush black curls — the kind almost no one has past the age of thirty — blew into the front room of the gym where they keep the kettlebells and other random doodads, crossing my path just as I finished a set of unweighted Good Mornings. “How ya doin today, ma’am?” he said, not quite breaking stride.
“We’re good,” I said, wondering who exactly he was.
What the heck. I raised my arm and banged knuckles.
“Oh yeah baby!” quoth he, and knocked out a set of parallel pin-stack leg presses. (I don’t know why they keep that thing up there with the stretch bands and plyo benches.)
Maybe he was just trying to make an old lady feel good. If so, it worked. Sometimes you can really use that kind of thing.