At the Y again, walking the track. I decided to take one for the team and be the Target. You know, the person everyone else targets to lap. Plus my ipod was newly loaded and I really wasn't paying much attention to actual exercise as much as I was to Thom Yorke.
While walking, or shall we say strolling, or lolligagging about, an older gentleman takes full advantage of my speed and starts his walk by jumping right in front of me.
Ah, yes, I thought, he wants to officially count how often he laps me by starting off right in front of me. He then decided that lapping me was not enough, he would adjust his underpants. Which I found to be less than delightful.
On his third lap and third underpants adjustment, he turned to me and said "lapped you three times, how do you like it?"
Had I been deemed a lapper?? Was I labeled? No, better than that.
He went on "My wife was one of the few survivors of the Zombie Invasion of '74, she chewed her own arm off to save her life, you won't be lapping her again."
I politely grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt and responded with you and your wife are a "bunch of mindless jerks who'll be the first against the wall when the revolution comes." Now, unless you'd like to go shovel to shovel out in the parking lot, I've got 6 more songs to listen to.
He, and his underpants, left in a huff.