My building, like many apartment buildings in New York, has quite an electic, random collection of doormen and porters who monitor the building's comings and goings and overall operations. The entire staff is extremely pleasant and friendly, but over the past year, I've definitely gotten to know some of their, um, quirks.
One of the porters, Randy, has worked here since the buidling opened last year when I moved in.
He speaks like a machine gun, rapidly firing off a dozen questions and comments as one single sentence and doesn't stop until it's time to breathe and reload a new magazine of verbal ammunition.
"Hi,HowYouDoingToday?Good,Thanks!That'sRight,NiceToSeeYou,HopeYourDayWasGood, TakeCareOfYourselfNow!"
At the end of this barrage, you have no idea what you should say so you end up just saying "Hi!" and stumbling off to the elevator.
Somehow (I guess I managed to actually fight my way into the conversation properly) I have learned that Randy works out. A lot. No, I mean, A LOT. Like 5 hours each day. He lives in Brooklyn and sometimes rides his bike to work (depending on where he lives in Brooklyn, this is probably at least a 10 - 12 mile ride. THEN, he tells me that he's starting RUNNING to work. That's right, all the way from Brooklyn. Not only does he run, but he runs with a weight vest... because running a half-marathon each day is just not quite enough exercise on its own.
And I can barely drag my sorry butt downstairs to the gym three or four times per week.
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