Today I surprised myself. I was guesting a gym with a friend’s membership. We were on the elliptical talking about everything and anything. This is unusual because this is the first time I hung out with her outside events/parties.
We talked about being in our thirties. She had seen a image of an senior citizen with an oxygen tank at the gym at one of the machines. It said something like, “I’m at the gym. What’s your excuse.” She said she would send it to me when she found it again.
My friend said that if he can go to the gym and do a full work out, then she can too. Then one of us said at least we were alive. Some people aren’t so lucky. I agreed while thrusting my arms forward and backward on the elliptical machine. Then I said, “It’s better than the alternative.” Did I just say that?
It was morbid, but it was strangely positive at the same time. Being older was better than the alternative–being dead. I didn’t have time to fully digest what I had said until my friend and I parted ways. Can you imagine the time you could spend on thinking of that phrase alone?? It is better than the alternative.
Maybe I’m making more of a big deal out of it than I should. Despite being a new year–jobless, lack of money, lack of romance, living at home, sharing living space with a pregnant teen and teenage father–out came this little positive inspiration. It was something like a Freudian Slip. That even though I may be in a lackluster situation, my mind was reminding me that it was better than not having a chance at life at all. It’s sad, but true.