KNIT ONE PURL TWO

I am trying to write for at least an hour every day.  Some days all I can manage is a grocery list but like Stephen King said, “Sometimes you have to go on when you don't feel like it, and sometimes you're doing good work when it feels like all you're managing is to shovel shit from a sitting position.”  Believe me, most days I feel like I am following around an elephant.  Again, I digress.  I am writing with the encouragement of my quirky cousins to write then ship-it. (stops and waves to quirky cousins) So I am putting a stamp on this and shipping it.

Betty White Wants ADrink GIF from Bettywhite GIFs

Gladys climbed on the stationary bike cussing and huffing.  It was her third day at the Cardiac Rehab center.  She was feeling a little out of place, as she had not had a heart attack like the rest of these poor people, instead she had a rheumatic heart from childhood illness.  Her cardiologist wanted to get a baseline on her before she went off and killed herself exercising on her own.   Now if you have never been to a cardio rehab class let me give you a brief description of the events.   First thing you do when you get there is get your blood pressure, heart rate and blood oxygen levels.  This is done by waiting in line behind about fifty octogenarians and a dozen nonagenarians who all give you the stink eye wondering what your quinquagenarian self is doing here. It is not like Gladys is a spring chick but still those oldsters are just a little suspicious of those young whippersnapper baby boomers. Once you have your vitals you head over to stick electrodes all over your body with super glue stuck to toilet paper. 

Finally, you climb aboard one of the instruments of torture, otherwise known as the recumbent bicycle on which you are tortured for a minimum of fifteen minutes of pure agony.  Then you drag your limp and tired legs over to the next instrument of torture also known as the treadmill.  Once you have completed the Bataan death march they usher you to a machine on which you peddle up hills both ways with your hands.  Yes, it is a hand peddler.  Yes, I know, you are saying.  What the heck Gladys?  None of this is that bad.  But Gladys abhorred exercise.

The nice nurse came to her machine and dialed up a level three.  Let’s test your stamina she said.  This will be easy, she lied.  Gladys began to peddle and the more she peddled the harder it became.  The harder it became the harder she panted and puffed.  Her face turned beat red.  He hands gripped the handles as if they would save her from falling into the bowels of hell.  She began to sweat and her legs began to burn.  The faster she peddled the inertia caused her to slide down the seat causing her to have to pull herself off the floor and back up on the seat.

It was during one of these adjustments she noticed that someone had taken the seat next to her.  Not just anyone, but a small little elvish woman in a baby pink track suit with a shocking head of white hair.  She was the Betty White of cardio.  Gladys gulped air and huffed out a hello.  The little woman smiled and returned the greeting in a sweet soft voice, not at all inconvenienced by the weapon of mass destruction she was peddling.   By this time Gladys was convinced she is going to die right there with her feet in the stirrups.  She looked hopefully over at the nonagrian next to her for some commiseration only to find old Betty White wanna-be  knitting.  The woman is KNITTING while working out.  WHAT KIND OF VOODOO IS THIS?   She’s a witch!  Burn her! Burn her!  Gladys was sure this woman was not working at the same level as she.  She was probably on a level one, barely peddling so holding on tight to the handles she leaned as far over as she could without being thrown like a city slicker on a mechanical bull.  She stretched and squinted only to see that old Betty was three levels higher than she was at and was on a much harder program.  One that made her climb hills at a high incline.  Humph, Gladys thought.  She isn’t human, that has to be the explanation. 

Finally, her time on the recumbent torture machine was over and she drug her limp and lifeless body over to the treadmill where once again the not so nice lying nurse set the machine to the lowest level allowed.  The tread began to roll and Gladys stumbled and caught herself with the bar,  caught up to the cadence and began her huffing and puffing.  Just a moment or two later good old knitting Betty hopped up on the treadmill next to Gladys.  She smiled and set her machine once again to random hills at a high speed.  Then she did the unthinkable.  She reached down and grabbed her knitting and began to knit.  She began to knit while climbing Mount Kilimanjaro.  What in the love of GOD is this woman drinking?  Gladys gulped down some air and huffed and puffed praying to all things holy for the torture to end.  Betty White just knitted and smiled.  The clouds parted, the light came on and finally Gladys’ fifteen minutes were finally over.  She mustered up as much of a smile as possible, drank a half a bottle of water in one swallow and begged to go home.

The nurse lied again and told her just one more little machine.  No big deal.  Just peddle with your hands.  You will feel wonderful she lied, the time will fly by she said.  LIES they were all LIES.  Gladys climbed onto the seat and began hand peddling up K-2  huffing and puffing.  She peddled trying to keep her coordination going when she realized once again the knitting kitten is sitting next to her preparing to also do a little hand peddling.  Gladys couldn’t take it anymore.  She had, had enough.  She stopped and looked over at the sweet little old superhuman and said “if you start knitting with your feet while you are hand peddling, I AM DONE.”   Knitting Betty White smiled sweetly and said in her saccharine voice “oh honey, I’m good, but, even I am not THAT good.”  That is when Gladys fell off the machine…… laughing.