My Moment With Tiki Barber

I decided to bring my ever widening self down to the gym’s spin studio to say I took some action in the War Against Fat. At my age it seems to find me and pile on like bed bugs. Since I am a gym employee I get to spin myself in to the ground as a perk. If you haven’t tried it, I strongly recommend it. There’s nothing like expending a tremendous amount of energy pedaling to get nowhere which is, in the end, a good thing because when you finally collapse you are exactly where you started, near the first aid kit and not six miles away in an non-English speaking neighborhood.

There are 45 bikes in the mirrored room arranged in neat Obsessive/Compulsive rows facing a stage that has a bike and a PA system on it for the instructor. There are monstrous speakers in the back of the room facing in to give the ride a bit of musical encouragement. The music is pumped at an earsplitting THUMP-THUMP-THUMP volume I that suspect is less for groove and more to inspire the class to pedal away from the big noise that makes ears bleed. I like to sit in the back, number 42 so I can hide from the regulars, a bunch of Type A overachievers and entitled Upper East Siders who’s job description is To Expect Service. On occasion, the class is attended by many a local celeb. Today it was NFL pro, Tiki Barber. He’s been in before. An amiable chap with a charming room-warming smile and charismatic presence that naturally draws people to him. Now I’m not much of a sports guy so this is a wasted celeb sighting for me in particular but, like Lucy, I get all googy when in the presence of those in a more famous position than myself.

I’m convinced that in those moments you suddenly find yourself in the presence of a celeb, could be Brad Pitt in the stall next to you or the guy who does the used car commercials in the deli in front of you, you always feel compelled to say something to them in hopes that some of their light will shine upon you and warm you. Or maybe that’s just my hope that some of their Famous will rub off on me and I’ll get that Hollywood rash as well. Today was no different; as I was sweating and pedaling and panting and hallucinating I thought I, of all people, should go up and say hello to Mr. Barber because, you know, it’ll be all cool and we’ll make friends and go for coffee and hang out and get pizza, right?

NOTE: At this point in the retelling Johnny Style said, “Yeah and since you just took class together you can take a shower and suds up together so yous can be all fresh for coffee.” Very funny, Mr. Style. Very funny indeed.

I left the class early to go throw up from the exertion and exhaustion and realized I forgot my water and towel. As I went back, class was letting out and one by sweaty one, the Type A Gotta Sweat Exercise Hamptons Crowd emerged high fiving and ass slapping. I see Tiki’s hulking mass behind them, the only one not grunting and slapping. Here’s my chance to rub elbows and my chance to make a great impression and apparently yet another chance to make a complete fool of myself. As I approached we made unavoidable eye contact because we were both going through the narrow doorway at the same time. I raised an eyebrow to look as charming as possible and begin to say something like, “Hey, Big T., how’s it going?” and extend my hand to shake.

Did I mention they were doing renovations in the studio and that the floor was uneven in places?
It was at that precise moment , the moment I got as far as, “Hey, Big T. –“ that I discovered one of the uneven points, caught it and staggered in horror magnifying slow motion, arms splayed, face contorted into that awful mask of sudden disappointment into the former NFL star who had to catch me inches before it turned into Prom Night Make Out Session. We danced and tussled in the tiny doorway as his skills kicked in and he held me up and steadied me so I wouldn’t break my neck. This was made all the more difficult by the fact that we were both slick with sweat. I think he said, “Hey, how you doin’?” but it could easily have been, “Hey man, get your tongue off my face…!”

All this occurred, by the way, as Mrs. Tiki Barber was standing between he and I in the doorway making for a very strange and sweaty sandwich.

There is a metaphor in here somewhere representing my relationship to Hollywood you know….