As you know, I have suffered from an inability to breathe and play tennis at the same time here in Bogota. Jimmy's heard my bellyaching after every tennis class, and frankly, I just wasn't feeling the love from him on this one. A girl just wants a little sympathy sometimes and I was getting nada (except his stories of how he goes to the gym and runs 6 miles and lifts weights with no problem).
Since yesterday was a holiday for him, he went to my tennis class with me. The plan was that I'd take the first 30 minutes and he could take the next 30 minutes. Well I huffed and puffed and sucked wind for about 29 of my minutes and then it was Jimmy's turn.
He started out strong. He didn't appear winded or tired.
And then I saw him surreptitiously look at his watch to check the time.
A few minutes later, he looked at his watch again and this time, he tapped the side of his watch (as if it wasn't working and he needed to shake the battery back into action).
Oh my dear darling, the battery is working just fine.
That's called disbelief that time can actually stand still while you're running after a fuzzy yellow ball at 10,000 feet (the tennis instructor confirmed that at the tennis court where we play, we're about 1500 feet above Bogota's 8600 feet). It's really almost like an oxygen-deprivation hallucination. I'm well-acquainted with this hallucination because I have become the master at sneaking glances at my watch during the one-hour class and not seeing the numbers change at all even though I'm sure I've been playing for 4 hours.
By the end of his 30 minutes, Jimmy was breathing awfully hard and, at various stages, was doubled over trying to catch his breath.
I'm trying not to gloat, but that's not working so well for me.
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