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Back to the gym
May. 21st, 2022 07:16 amI dreamed I returned after some years to the grappling gym, but I was just going there to drop my son off for training. The gym itself was near the site of my father's old store. The interior of it was cavernous and had dramatically sloping ramps that raised up from the front door on a 35-45-degree angle. The front of the space was blue and white with high ceilings and lots of glass display cases, inside of which were various trophies and medals along with belts, gis, and other supplies; the mats were somewhere hidden beyond these cases. The back room of the place was dark and brown and looked like a cross between a sewer and a skateboard park at dusk; it was back here that the bathrooms and the gym owner's office were situated.
Famed fighter Renzo Gracie was visiting the gym; his arms were badly mutilated, and some of the students were looking at the various scars that crisscrossed them. There was to be a graduation ceremony. I waited around in my civilian clothes until the kids' class was to begin. At the front of the gym I saw a couple of youths looking at some kind of girlie mag, maybe the Sports Illustrated swimsuits, and talking on a corded (hardline) phone, calling to some kids who were in the back of the gym. "She's pretty," the kids said, indicating a given page. Meanwhile, Renzo and the gym owner were addressing the assembled crowd, and I raised my eyebrow at the kid, so he hung up the phone.
I found myself running across a field of debris in the back part of the gym, looking for the gym owner but not finding him. My son was now in the class, and I exited the building to the street: night and humid. My wife and our friends were there, and we were to go out to a diner with them; but our friend couldn't find her husband, who was out wandering the streets with my brother (the husband has M.S., and she was concerned). I told her not to worry, we would find him. I found them next door in a deli, eating sandwiches of an exaggerated size. The step up into the deli was maybe four feet high, so I simply held the door open and spoke to them from the sidewalk, telling C. that his wife was looking for them and we were supposed to go out to eat together. They offered me a sandwich, but I declined, and told them maybe we could go out for a gelato later. Then I turned back to the crowds on the street.
Famed fighter Renzo Gracie was visiting the gym; his arms were badly mutilated, and some of the students were looking at the various scars that crisscrossed them. There was to be a graduation ceremony. I waited around in my civilian clothes until the kids' class was to begin. At the front of the gym I saw a couple of youths looking at some kind of girlie mag, maybe the Sports Illustrated swimsuits, and talking on a corded (hardline) phone, calling to some kids who were in the back of the gym. "She's pretty," the kids said, indicating a given page. Meanwhile, Renzo and the gym owner were addressing the assembled crowd, and I raised my eyebrow at the kid, so he hung up the phone.
I found myself running across a field of debris in the back part of the gym, looking for the gym owner but not finding him. My son was now in the class, and I exited the building to the street: night and humid. My wife and our friends were there, and we were to go out to a diner with them; but our friend couldn't find her husband, who was out wandering the streets with my brother (the husband has M.S., and she was concerned). I told her not to worry, we would find him. I found them next door in a deli, eating sandwiches of an exaggerated size. The step up into the deli was maybe four feet high, so I simply held the door open and spoke to them from the sidewalk, telling C. that his wife was looking for them and we were supposed to go out to eat together. They offered me a sandwich, but I declined, and told them maybe we could go out for a gelato later. Then I turned back to the crowds on the street.
