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Pooh Foot from “Gym Wind”

Published on December 30, 2013 by in Just for fun

GymWindCoverThe response for my second book Gym Wind, Indecent Exposures, and Other Short Stories has been great so far! Here is what one reader had to say:

“I’m going to have to encourage you to write more, thank you for the chuckles thus far good job :D:D”

So I bring you my last preview into the book here on the blog with a short story titled “Pooh Foot”. You can check out another chapter here and here. If you want the whole book, you will have to fork over an entire 99 cents over on Amazon.com.

Enjoy…

“Pooh Foot”

 

When reading the title Pooh Foot, you might be thinking this has something to do with stepping in poop; it does – sort of. I’m 19 years old and still living in Southern California during this story. Or is it more of cautionary tale?

 

***

 

Just a few more sets of my workout before I head for the showers. It’s Friday night, the gym is dead – apparently the rest of Southern California has something better to do on this Friday night instead of pumping iron. And I probably do too. I could sit in on the freeway for three and half hours trying to cram through North Los Angeles traffic with 10 million other people on Christmas Eve to try and get back to Temecula to visit my parents and siblings for the holidays. Instead I decide to waste a couple of hours here to let traffic die down before I head to the parents’ house. This cuts my drive time in half by hitting the freeways after rush hour.

 

Besides, working out here gives me some time to blow off some steam. I think it’s possibly more productive to release anger by slinging iron around then showing up at your girlfriend’s (now ex-girlfriend) work and causing a scene while confronting her and the guy she is cheating on you with – screaming at the top of your lungs, making threats, getting the cops called on you, and stuff like that – which happened last time I was in Temecula. On the bright side, since that happened I think I’ve gained 5 pounds of muscle and added 20 pounds to my bench press. So take note:  If you ever hit a plateau in your workout goals, try dating someone for a year, have him or her cheat on you and lie about it, then catch the two of them together. After that, conjure up a complete fit of rage and direct that anger to toward your bench press. It seems to work. Am I the only one that uses anger as a motivator when lifting?

 

Retracting from that side thought, my workout tonight is going good. It’s my second time working out arms this week since I’m skipping leg day, and no I’m not a regular leg day skipper, but I have this groin pain going on that I can’t seem to account for. I don’t know when I injured it. Just woke up one morning and it was slightly swollen, tender to the touch, and uncomfortable to walk on. I don’t recall pulling anything on my last workout session for legs – rarely do groin pulls require any questioning; when you pull it, you know it. I don’t remember any activity at work that would have aggravated it either. Weird. Anyway, after about an hour-and-a-half or so I do one last set of hammer curls and head for the locker room to shower before I hop on the freeway.

 

Fast-forward two and half hours and I am home. Home, home – where I grew up – my parent’s house where I still have a bedroom with my stuff in it. A queen bed (much better than the air mattress I’ve been sleeping on at the apartment up north), my posters on the wall, my CD collection, my stuff. While it’s cool living in my first home away from home up north, there is something cool about being back home at Mom and Dad’s too. And it’s Christmas Eve! The whole family is here: Mom, Dad, Jeff (my brother), and Jessica (my sister) visiting from college. I’m feeling good, despite recently having my heart broken and this darn leg pain I can’t seem to take my mind off of.

 

Christmas Day is here and we do the usual. Presents, family time, a real nice prime rib dinner. After dinner I mention to Mom about my leg/groin pain I have going on. “Maybe you should see about getting into the doctor on Monday. Tell them you’re in town for just a few days and see if they can squeeze you in.”

 

“I don’t know Mom, I’m sure it’s fine,” I say, “I’ll see if it feels any better.”

 

Sunday morning I wake up, and yeah, I’ll be calling the doc tomorrow. This thing is not getting better – if anything it feels like it’s getting worse. It even feels warm to the touch. What the heck did I do?

 

Monday rolls around, and I call the doctor’s office. They can “squeeze me in” just like Mom said. My family and I have been going to the same doctor since I was six years old. It seems like he always has time to fit us into his schedule.

 

Fast forward to Monday. Waiting for the doctor in the exam room, I hear a knock at the door. “Glen, how are you doing, how have you been?” he says in his always cheerful voice. That’s how he is. Always upbeat and able to deliver any prognosis with an assuring optimistic attitude.

 

We talk for several minutes about nothing too important. The usual “How are your folks?” and “What have you been up to?” and stuff like that. Then we get down to business. I tell him what I have going on and he nods as he is listening putting together a series of theories in his head of what this could this be, I assume.

 

“Okay, go ahead and drop your drawers.” I do as he says and he continues with the usual guy tests. “Turn your head.” My head turns. “Cough.” I cough. He proceeds to do the quick juggle test. “Okay, everything is good there. Now, it’s tender here?” he asks gently pressing on my inner thigh.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Okay,” he says and begins to feel and press just a little firmer, feeling for something. “And what about…”

 

“Argghh,” I let out a clenched-teeth sound of discomfort as he presses a spot that makes my knees just about buckle before he could finish his question. “Yeah, that hurts.”

 

“Alright, it appears that you have an infection and your (such and such) gland is swollen. Do you have any open cuts on your foot or have you been walking barefoot in public places?”

 

“Well, I go to the gym and shower there and stuff.”

 

“Okay, well, it could have happened there or somewhere else. But when you’re in public gyms and places like that, you want to be sure you are wearing sandals or something to protect your feet because, if you think about it, you have people washing different things off their bodies, and if you have a cut or something on your foot that can be an open door for a kind of bacteria to get in. That is most likely what happened here: you had an infection on your foot, and your foot may have been sore a week or so ago but you didn’t think anything of it, and then the infection traveled up your leg and that’s what you’re feeling now. So we’ll give you some antibiotics and that should clear it up.”

 

Hi, I’m a pooh particle. Just sitting here on a hair hanging out with my pals, stinking things up, like we do. I wonder where life will take me today. Whoah, it looks like we’re moving boys – I wonder where we’re going. It looks like somewhere steamy. Oh yeah, it’s warm in here, I like this. I like it a lot. Isn’t this great guys? (Dozens of pooh particles gleam with excitement). Specs of pooh like us can thrive here in this hot and steamy environment. Yippee! Wait – whoa – what – what’s happening? It’s water! Noooo! Hang on boys, don’t let go! Hang on for all that is good and don’t let go! Our lives depend on it. Oh no! AHHHH! I’m falling. Ouch! I’m on the floor now, holding on for dear life watching as my friends, one-by-one, get washed away. Oh no, I can hardly stand to watch this genocide. The screams of fellow poohs as they wash down the drain, struggling, slipping, sliding to their doom. Tragic. I will NOT be one of them! I was meant for something greater then being washed away as an obscure and unsung little pooh who suffered death by way of Old Spice and hot shower water. I will cling to this tile grout harder than I ever clung to any bowel, or flesh of skin, or hair. I will ride this storm out, however long I must endure.

 

A break in flow of water. The storm has passed.

 

The fellow on whose hair I once clung is now leaving. No more water is running. What now? Here I am all alone on the floor. How long can I now survive here? Maybe I should have washed away with the other pooh particles and bacteria. No, there has got to be something more. I hear something. I see something. Someone is coming! There is hope. Step, splash. Step, splash. If I time this just right I might have a shot of getting out of here. Step, splash. Step, cling! I’m on! Hang on Poopie, Poopie hang on! If I can just find some shelter here on this foot – wait, what is this up ahead? A cut, an opening, a red door, if you will; a door to the inside! If I can squirm just right I might get there. Just one more inch. Come… on! Ah hah! I’m in! I knew I could do it!

 

I have made it, made it to the place which millions of other pooh particles and bacteria only dream about. The inside of a human’s blood stream. This isn’t the digestive system, this is whole new ballgame – no, not even a new ball game – a new sport, a new world, a new universe. I’ll go to war with white blood cells in the next week, swimming through vessels and capillaries and things I can’t even pronounce. One spec of pooh among the flesh of man, that is I as I prepare to lead the way of multiplied bacteria and travel from foot to calf, from calf to knee, from knee to, well, who knows? Perhaps I’m getting too far ahead of myself. For now I’ll stay put and infect this foot. I’ll need plenty of rest before I travel north.

 

As I finished up at the doctor’s office I thought about how I may have stepped on someone’s fecal matter and how I got some “pooh foot” infection that eventually traveled up my leg. Gross. Maybe next time I finish up a workout at the gym I’ll just stew in my own sweat for a while – I can shower when I get home.

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