Pumping Iron

French came by last night.  It was kinda late.  I was just folding some sheets after the kids were in bed.  He was still wearing his work clothes.  I expected him to want to go to my garage and have a few beers.  French knows that I always keep a few cans in my tool kit.

Instead he said: "wanna pump some iron?"

I said: "sure."

We went down in my basement and started to dust off my old bench press.  French found one of my bars and started to load it with weights.  There were scattered dumbbells all over the place and we gathered them up.  After a few minutes we had the makings of a gym.  We even dug up a curl bar and a triceps bar.  It was the same stuff I had back in high school.  That was the last time I'd worked out with French.

I slid a cassette into my Sony ghetto blaster and we started to lift.  He wanted to do a circuit of arms and chest.  We "pumped iron" for just over 1/2 and hour; at which point he said "he had to go."  He rushed out to his car; sweaty, and still wearing his tie.

I feel better today than I have in a long time.