I share the steam room with guys who swim twice as fast as I can, who lift two-hundred pound weights, who can run on a twenty-degree tilted treadmill much longer than I can walk on a flat one. But in the steam room, they're the wimps, and I'm the macho.
The steam comes out of a pipe at floor level. It's incredibly hot. Everyone draws his feet up when the steam pours, either lifting feet a few inches, or drawing their legs, scared-pussy style, up onto the tile bench. Not me! I'm convinced that that steam killed my toenail fungus. I leave my feet on the floor, in order to remain a better person, and now I'm used to the heat. So there.
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2 comments:
Always. Always.
Do what you know is right!
Else you'll only find life in that whizzing moment as you follow the herd over the precipice.
Not that the alternative is necessarily any fun.
Commune upon Boxsel's "Encyclopedia of Stupidity" to be reminded why.
Go ahead... Google it! ;)
--ml
Martin,
If I ever go over a precipice, I definitely want to follow the herd, they may cushion my fall.
- PB
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