I have reason to believe that my gym magically transports me to the early 1900s whenever I go there. For one: yesterday, a white-haired man who looked EXACTLY like Mark Twain held the door open for me as I was entering the gym. Really, it was uncanny! Bushy mustache, weirdly-wild-yet-somehow-kempt hair, suit [seersucker?], and everything except the bowtie. And Haley's comet, but now that I think of it, I never did look at the sky. Maybe it passed over right at that very moment, because after I walked through the door, I turned around to get another look at him, and he was GONE.
Secondly! Today, there was a man at the gym who can be no one other than The World's Strongest Man Circa 1904. He has: a longish mustache, which I imagine he must groom into a handle-bar shape when he's not in the informal setting of daily gym conditioning; very short hair, with a part so straight and impeccably close to the scalp that it could only result from the use of hair tonic; an odd tight-fitting one-piece A-shirt/shorts combination garment; an old-timey and well-broken-in brown leather wrestling belt around his midsection; and of course, a classic turn-of-the-century-bodybuilder's muscular-yet-narrow physique. Hoo boy, was he also wearing dark-brown-leather high-top shoes with white mid-calf length socks, or is my memory making that up to complete the image?
Anyway, clearly it's true that I've been transported to the turn of the 20th century by my gym, and it may even be possible that I'm still there! After all, have you seen or heard from me lately? So if this post shows up, I think it's safe to say that I've safely returned to 2008. But if all that appears in my journal is morse code, then · · · — — — · · ·