Last Day of the Session

You know how someone you haven't seen in a long time crosses your mind, then you happen to run into them?  Danny walked into the ring Wednesday evening.  He and Jermaine used to be regulars at Loyola Park Gym when Steve was still the coach.  Danny is now 24 years old, a born-again Christian, and he supervises a building in Evanston.  I was really surprised to see him, and it was great to see him in the gym again.  He wants to start working out again.  He told me that he sees JJ from time to time whenever he goes into Home Depot (JJ works there). 

Carlos was back in the gym, too, and he sparred with Mike, Jamil and Ralphie. During the session with Mike, I heard a commotion and turned around to see Carlos down on on knee, coughing.  He pulled off his headgear, then he rolled over onto his back.  Oh, no. . .not another low blow, I thought.  "What happened?" I asked him.  "I just got tired out," Carlos said.  Diana watched the sparring with interest, but she told Alan she still wasn't ready to get into the ring. 

Later, Jamil stopped in the middle of his sparring session with Carlos, clutching his chest and doubling over.  Ralphie grabbed one of the buckets, and Jamil threw up into it.  "I just couldn't breathe," he told us, and the sparring match was over.  "That's what almost happened to me!" Carlos said, referring to his time in the ring with Mike.  "I've never seen someone throw up at ringside before," Alan said, taking Jamil's headgear.  "I saw a kid throwing up during a match at Garfield Park a few summers ago.  It looks as if he had eaten too close to the match," I said. 

I sparred with Jamil for three rounds.  I was winded afterwards, but not as bad as I usually am.  Earlier that day, I had run to catch a bus to get to work.  The regular exercise must be working, because I wasn't wheezing once I caught it. 

Barry left me a message that JJ is on his way to the Nationals.  JJ stopped his previous three opponents early on during the matches he had with them.  Mike told me that JJ's story was featured in the Chicago Tribune; Danny told me he saw a story about JJ in the Evanston Review.  Very exciting stuff indeed.

Am I showing too much skin at church? I wondered. Virgina had told me that someone else who came by the church earlier in the week saw me and thought all I had on was a long T-shirt.  I could probably get away with wearing a long T-shirt as a dress as short as I am.  All I would have to do is accessorize.  I've known women who are more petite than I am who've done just that.  But I'm always worried about a strong wind blowing the T-shirt up at the wrong time, so I don't dare. 

The shorts I do own are, well, short, but they don't quite qualify as Daisy Dukes or hot pants.  Most of my T-shirts are long, so, yes, sometimes it appears that I'm only wearing a T-shirt.  I have to be mindful of pulling my shirt up a little (or stuffing part of it in my shorts) once in a while so that my shorts are visible.  A guy on the street was admiring my legs yesterday as I made my way to a mail box to send off some birthday cards addressed to church members.  "I saw those legs, so I had to get fresh," he smiled.  I just laughed and thanked him.  That's how I got my last boyfriend; it was summer, and he kept seeing me walking by in shorts.  "Nice legs," he told a friend of his before finally getting my phone number. 

The guys in the gym make no comment about my shorts, but then that's the gym, not church.  I asked Pastor Roger about it, and he said basically, "don't do -- or wear something -- that might make your brother stumble."  Every woman has at least one part of her body that she really likes and tends to show off.  It used to be my eyes, but these days, I look more like my father around that area.  More Oil of Olay is in order.  I've fallen back on showing off my legs.  Of course, it's not my intention to play a like a "fast girl" (as my grandmother used to say) at church.  I don't have to dress up every day there, so I'm just wearing what's comfortable. 

However, on the street, it makes the 'ol middle gal feel good to get catcalls on her legs from men, especially the younger ones (smile).