Page 6 of Santa Has a Six-Pack
“Yeah, it sucks. Tomorrow’s visit could be better, though.”
“I hope so, man.”
In need of a subject change, I hang the candy cane wreath on the door to the changing rooms. “There. What do you think? Not the most nutritious thing in the world, but everyone deserves a treat sometimes, right?” I pull a piece of candy off it and pop it into my mouth.
“Right.” Eugene is back to squinting at the computer screen.
I approach him at the desk. “Elinor giving you crap again?”
Eugene got engaged to his girlfriend in June. Call me crazy, but I believe relationships should lift people up, not bring them down. And ever since he put a ring on Elinor’s finger, my buddy’s spirits have been low, low, low.
“No,” Gene says. “Elinor’s… fine.”
“She’s fine?”
“Yeah, she’s fine! And honestly…” Gene struggles to find the words. “She makes some really great points.”
“Oh yeah? About what?”
“About the fact that we’re thirty-five years old and should be putting away money for retirement, not starting a new pipe dream and barely scraping by every month.”
I shake my head. “Don’t let her do this to you, man. My dad was in a constant state of stress over money, and it literally killed him.” I pause. “And what do you mean by we? Am I part of your hourly arguments with your fiancée now?”
“Our arguments aren’t hourly…”
“Daily then. And since when is our gym a ‘pipe dream’? We have fourteen people signed up for our six p.m. class tonight. Membership is growing every day. This place isn’t a dream. It’s a reality, and it’s awesome!”
I turn, and a surge of pride courses through me just like it does every time I take in Bossfit Brooklyn.
I love this place.
“I know it is,” Gene says, “but —”
“But nothing! Hey, you know why I’m not worried about the money?”
“Why?” Eugene shuts his laptop and pushes away from the desk.
“Look around, dude! Everywhere you turn is something we made happen through grit and resourcefulness. Not money.” I nod toward the cinderblock wall along the back of the gym. “Remember when we had that literal pipe dream? We needed a pull-up bar station, but couldn’t afford to buy one. So what did we do?”
“We got a sweet pipe hookup from that plumber in Bushwick and built our own epic pull-up bar station,” Eugene says.
“You bet your ass we did!” I point to the right. “How about those sturdy-ass jump boxes over there in the corner? You may recall that we built those ourselves too, using plywood from the hardware store, which was on sale—thank you very much—courtesy of my neighbor’s senior citizen discount card.”
“I do recall that, yes.”
I’m on a roll now. “And that stack of tires over there! Did we or did we not inherit those from that Crown Heights mechanic who was more than happy to gift them to us from his scrap pile?”
“We did.”
“Every time I see our members flipping those tires and getting stronger, I want to kiss that dirty mechanic on the mouth.”
“Alright, settle down now.” Eugene laughs.
“I won’t settle down! I’m in the middle of making a point here.”
“Is the point coming anytime soon?”
“Point is… you can focus on how difficult—and expensive—things are, or you can put your trust in life and get busy making things happen. You and me, buddy? We make things happen. We’re smart. We’re capable. And the world is a good place filled with decent people who want to help.” I pause and look him in the eye. “We’re going to be fine.”
