Low Life | 10 October 2009

As I was getting changed, a naked figure emerged from the clouds of steam in the showers. The upper half was the Incredible Hulk, the lower half Charles Haughtry. I recognised the face. It was a lad I always used to see working out in the other gym. Usually, we’d be the only ones in there: him red-faced and grunting, lifting big weights in front of the mirror; me on the warm-up mats, bending myself into shapes. At first I didn’t speak or even acknowledge his existence. But I saw him there so often that eventually it would have been rude to continue ignoring him, so I used to give him a single curt nod before going down stiffly into Downward-facing Dog or the Plank. But seeing him here, at this other gym, in this other town, where we were both strangers, made me feel like we were old comrades, so for the first time I spoke to him.