This morning I was in a hurry and couldn't find two matching sneakers. I could find one worn-out lime & gray New Balance running sneaker, and one brand newish barely ever worn giant white blocky New Balance walking sneaker, which I think my mother gave me, because even she wouldn't wear this Jerry Seinfeld circa 1996 shit. 

I was determined to get Vince to the train so I wouldn't spend the next two hours driving to and from Center City, and so I could go to the gym and have a productive morning. So, guess what I wore. 

I thought to myself, I give no fucks. And take no quarter. YAARR, I'M THE PYRATE QUEENE OF PLANET FITNESS.

Snapped the photo, sent it to Dr. Fig, because in that tightly wound New York poli sci world in which she lives, she needs this. 

So, as I'm walking out to the gym floor, I see a guy on another elliptical machine, African American, about my height, maybe a little younger than me or the same age, wiry and skinny, with a full beard, dreadlocks, and a bandanna on his head. 

The guy was chugging along, but instead of holding the elliptical machine handles, he was paddling. He was paddling with an invisible canoe oar, alternating sides of his invisible boat, with a pretty good rate of speed. I'd say whoever should prepare to be boarded didn't stand a chance. 

I really wanted to encourage him, but I didn't want him to think I was making fun of him. Because when I listen to This Way To The Egress on the elliptical, it's really hard for me to resist doing jazz hands. 

He kept it up for a pretty good while, too. 

YAR.