We amble along behind an older man in a polo and khaki shorts who's a little stocky with a big belly hanging over his waistband.
The man stops, drops to one knee, then the other.
Oh my God, I think, he's having a heart attack. What do I do?
He reaches out in front of him, plants both hands on the sidewalk. He holds himself there for a moment. Is he about to collapse?
I don't have my phone! No one's around. Do I even remember the CPR class I took twenty years ago? Panic freezes me in place. It's true that I'd be the first one to die in a horror movie.
Just as a weak plan to run for help forms in my slow moving brain, the man kicks back his legs and starts doing push ups.
Ah, South Beach, how you continue to surprise me. Even older, portly men are in better shape than I am.
Marjetta, this is so funny! At the gym the other morning there was an older gentleman wheezing and gasping on a bike, and I was so worried about him. I had the same thought -- do I even remember CPR? Thankfully he was okay. :-)
ReplyDeleteI enjoyed your post!