The 24-Hour Fitness Gym and Twilight Zone

The above are definitely connected.  Let us exam this row of portraits that once were seen at the gym and then mysteriously ... never again.

The Bejeweled Tattooed Lady - I noticed her just after we'd started at the gym seven years ago.  She was probably 5 ft. 6 in. and 80 lbs. with  purple fade long hair.  The top was lavender, darkening to purple at the ends.  Bracelets cascaded down both skinny arms and a series of 10 to 20 bead necklaces rested on her bony chest.  She was somewhere between 80 and 100 years old and her body language told me she was not best pleased with the staff trainer.  The beach is not Hollywierd and to say she stood out is major understatement. 

The Gangsta Rapper's Get-Ups - He liked the end of the row of the stair-climbers, near his lounging posse on the exercise mats.  He seemed genial enough in his bandana or "do-rag," baggy t-shirt and shorts nearly down to his trainers -- all of these articles were bright, Day-Glo orange.  As he ran the stairs full out (despite wearing about 40 lbs. of gold necklaces,) his shorts flapped at the legs and I could swear he was also wearing lacy, thigh-high hose.

Didn't We See Her at the Poopdeck?  I had just come into the ladies' locker room when another person barreled past me.  For a nanosecond I thought I'd walked into the wrong locker room, but then I realized it was just a very big girl.  She was wearing sneakers, shorts and a t-shirt.  She had to be at least 6 ft. 5 in. tall and in perfect shape - just bigger than everyone else in the gym (men included.) 

I didn't want to stare so I didn't but I'd swear that Richie, "D" and I had seen her one holiday weekend visiting with the bouncer at the Poopdeck who was just as tall as she was.  We were treated to the sight of these two Goliaths standing back to back trying to measure who was the taller.  It was a tie (despite conflicting opinions of the bar customers.)  That established, she laughed and went on her merry way up The Strand. 

The Widow - Exiting the lobby, I held the door to the parking lot open for another lady.  She was short, probably 5 ft. 3 in. and somewhat overweight (by about 30 lbs.) with thick, snow white hair and deep facial wrinkles. 

Conversationally, she said, "I don't know why I put myself through the gym only to go home to an empty house.  I lost my husband May 19th - and it isn't easy."  Startled by this personal revelation, I quickly thumbed my way through a mental file of "What to say now?" and softly said, "I'm sorry for your loss..."

"Thank you, dear," she said and rambled on for a few steps until I had to turn right and she went to the left to her car.  This happened two days ago and I haven't seen her since. 

The good news in the disappearances -- innocent or not -- from the gym is that I haven't seen the enormously fat woman wearing a scarlet thong, back to me, bent over drying her feet.  Believe me, no one wants to see that!  I thought my eyeballs would catch fire and I'd never see again.