Some of the people I noticed on my commute weren’t necessarily riding the train with me. Some of them shared my walk from the train station to the office where I worked.
Backstory: The company I worked for had a campus sprawled over various areas of Big City. This is called a “Metropolitan Area” scheme, if you’re wondering. Two buildings on the same street faced each other, one on the west side and the other on the east side of a north-south thoroughfare. So, a lot of people who worked for said company hoofed down the long street from destinations unknown. Hardbody was one such individual.
When I first started with the company, I didn’t know the shuttle bus schedule and frankly, I didn’t want to work that hard first thing in the morning, so for several months I just walked up the street. It was a long walk for me and hey, I’m fat – I could use the exercise. Why not?
For a time, I tried to keep up with the other walking commuters as they strutted down the street with their type-A commuter’s gaits.
That didn’t last. Did I mention I’m fat? Well, I’m out of shape and a smoker too, so no, that didn’t last. I soon discovered I couldn’t keep up, even when I tried. I walked as fast as I dared without inducing a cardiac episode, and reminded myself smoking after this ordeal, no matter how appealing, was a disastrously stupid idea. One day, through the pain-induced haze and tears, I heard a rapid footfall behind me. It was the familiar clip-clop of high heels. I’d gotten used to being passed by women in high-heeled shoes (and everyone else, fat, thin, young, old, disabled – didn’t matter, everyone passed me), so when I glanced up, I didn’t expect much.
Instead, I caught the posterior view of one of the most amazing female specimens I’ve ever seen.
Her clumpy heels didn’t slow her down. She strode along, her sprayed hair bouncing with each step, but nothing else did. Her body had no notable fat – at least not through her clothing. She was taller than I am in her heels, and her clothes fit every curve and angle of her body. Her hips swung as she walked, and even her glutes didn’t vibrate. It was like she was carved from stone.
I stared, amazed, as she put distance between us, and wondered if I could count her ribs if she wore a bikini. Then I noticed her thighs, from which you could bounce a quarter, didn’t make contact at the top where they attached to her pelvis. And in a moment I realized there really is such a thing as too thin. She’s an amazing physique to be sure, but I couldn’t help wondering how many vertebrae show through the skin on her back and whether her iliac bones protruded when she wore more revealing articles.
Still, her athleticism astounded me, and I pondered the hours in the gym, her commitment to diet and discipline, as she smoldered out of my sight.
Over the course of many months I gained endurance enough to be less slow (never fast) when I walked, and I always used The Hardbody as my benchmark.
I didn’t really mind the view either.
All original content © 2009 DarcKnyt
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