Outed

Dearest Rachel –

You would have found it amusing on Friday evening as we were setting things up for the Family Fest at church. As I have no work schedule to speak of (in fact, I’d taken the day off for the express purpose of making sure I was home to pay Kris as soon as she was done cleaning the house), I took the opportunity to head out well before the appointed time in order to grab an early dinner for Daniel and myself, much like we do on Mondays before Sparks (which reminds me; I’ve got to decide on a destination beforehand for this evening), only to discover that the staff overseeing the setup process had taken the liberty of purchasing pizzas for the entire volunteer crew putting up tables, chairs, games and decorations.

Now, upon consideration, this was a perfectly reasonable thing to do. Setting aside the fact that this is a nice reward for those willing to put in the time and effort, most people are coming from jobs to get there at the scheduled time. Given a moment to collect my thoughts, I can recall plenty of times when six o’clock was a stretch for me to get anywhere by. Indeed, there were quite a few days when I felt lucky to get out of the office by then, let alone home to pick you two up and get where we needed to be. There would have been no opportunity beforehand to eat in this situation, and the church was providing the sustenance most of the crowd wouldn’t have been able to obtain elsewhere (and elsewhen).

The thing is, after these several years since having to report to a seven-thirty-to-five-thirty job, those sort of issues have slipped my mind. I mean, I’m grateful for being able to forget those unpleasant parts of my life like that, but it makes me that much less able to relate to others who still have to deal with similar situations to what used to be my own. Not only that, but this self-induced memory wipe also takes out too many memories of ordinary pleasantries that we had together, which these letters were supposed to help remind me of (with limited success, as you can tell).

But I digress. Long story short, I wasn’t expecting to be fed at the setup, and had taken matters into my own hands for Daniel and myself. So when the pizzas were pulled out, I was more than a little chagrined at having ensured that the two of us had already been fed. Moreover, the chicken place we’d been at wasn’t even particularly good – the breading had been crispy to the point of crunchy (which, if you like that sort of thing, is perfectly fine, but I was actually hoping for some grilled bites, and they didn’t have anything of the sort), and they gave us fries as one side order instead of vegetables (which, again, would be welcomed by most people, but Daniel’s never been one for fries, and as you know, I’ve been trying to watch my weight). I’d basically gotten ourselves something inferior because I wasn’t counting on being supplied with anything at the job site.

I’m sure there’s a sermon in there somewhere, but I’ll leave that for those who write them for a living.

In any event, despite there being such a crowd there as to get the whole process completed in barely an hour, there was more than enough pizza to go around. And despite having eaten a decent-sized meal, I’m not one to pass up free pizza, especially from Lou Malnati’s (even if it was the flat tavern-style stuff they’re not famous for… although, I’d forgotten how good their thin crust is, too). But I couldn’t help mock-berating myself aloud for succumbing to temptation in the moment.

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” some guy at my elbow in the moment piped up. “It’ll just take you five or ten minutes on the treadmill, and you’ll be fine.”

It was all I could do not to laugh ruefully at his assertion. Just hitting the treadmill takes time to burn these kind of calories – I’ve mentioned to you before that it takes about a mile to burn a hundred calories, especially if you’re keeping it on a flat surface; the only difference is how fast you go determines how fast it’s burned. And I said as much to this fellow in response.

“Oh, no,” he countered, “I’ve seen you every day in the gym; I know you run on that incline,” and he held his hand out, indicating an angle roughly akin to the one I usually have it set to when I’m working out. “You’d get rid of this in a heartbeat.” It was at that moment that I realized that I’d been outed; this guy was an actual member of the same gym that I go to, and actually seems to have noticed what my routine was like.

To be sure, it isn’t as if I had anything to be embarrassed by; his comments actually gave me more credit for faithfulness at my attempts at an exercise regimen that I really deserve, suggesting that he saw me there every day, which is by no means true. But it was slightly unnerving that people were seeing me at both places; this must be the sensation that a teacher gets when they’re spotted outside of class in the middle of their ordinary lives (I know how strange that can be for a student to see, so I assume the dissonance goes both ways). To be sure, while I behave differently at the gym than at church, that’s more a matter of what I’m doing than that I’m carrying myself any differently, I think (again, the things he noticed were my faithfulness, and the strain I put upon myself, both of which would be considered good things, I think)

It was also strange to be caught out by someone I didn’t recognize. Of course, most of the time I’m working out, I can’t see anyone; after twenty minutes on the treadmill, I’ve set my glasses down rather than letting them slip off due to the sweat running down my face, so everyone there is little more than a blur to me. And I suppose I have a distinctive face, compared to him – or maybe it takes me more time to recognize faces. I still don’t know the guy who told me I wouldn’t need to worry about the few slices I’d eaten.

Still, it was a reminder that I’m – we are – being watched. Maybe not with the deliberate nature of, say, a police stakeout, but people will see us in one place and another, and confirm if we’re the same person out in the world as we are in church. We can’t afford to be a Jekyll-and-Hyde, because someone will notice, and they may just call us out. This wasn’t a case of that, granted – indeed, it sort of felt like I’d done a good job of being that consistent – but it was still something for me to take into consideration going forward.

Indeed, there’s probably another sermon in there somewhere, but I’ll leave that for those who write them for a living as well.

For now though, honey, I’m going to ask for you, at least, to keep an eye on me, to keep me on that straight and narrow, and wish me luck to that end. I’m pretty sure I’m going to need it.