My Garage

You know, in my new drive to work­out, I’ve begun to form what might be an odd sort of dream. Dur­ing my entire life, I’ve never had a house with an empty garage. My par­ents use the garage as a giant stor­age area such that it is almost com­i­cal and the thing of leg­end among my friends and fam­ily. We cur­rently think the fol­low­ing might be hid­den within it: dead horse, 1970 dune buggy, air­line black­box, Ten­z­ing Nor­gay and Jimmy Hoffa. I would post a pic­ture, but a photo won’t do it justice.

But with my thrice weekly trips to the gym I’ve begun to dream of hav­ing a gym in my garage. Not my garage in the cur­rent house, but in the future some­time. Just a true man’s space. Weight bench, pull up bar, punch­ing bag, jump rope, old couch, big floor fan, stereo, and a fridge with cold drinks.

It just is one of those images which has begun to stick with me. The idea of me crank­ing the music, turn­ing off the phone, going out into the hot garage with just me and my dog, and work­ing out like every good Rocky montage.