![]() I pay her for her time, and then I go back to sitting around. “I need a drink,” she says, and I make her a Manhattan. The trainer is a youngish woman named Leonie or Larisa and I invite her to look at the photo of the Camp Warren staff and I talk about these YMCA counselors and their tragic lives in crime, one a compulsive arsonist, another ran the biggest Ponzi scheme in Minnesota history and one stole catalytic converters, and soon Lynette or Lois is in tears and the hour is up and exercise is forgotten. ![]() Other people have hired trainers to compel them to exercise but this doesn’t work for me. I also need to get out and walk strenuously and for this I must hire a kidnapper named Junior who will bind my hands and throw me in the back of his car and drive me six miles away and leave me there with no billfold, no cash, no paper and pen with which to write a note (PLEASE GIVE ME A RIDE), and will watch from a distance to make sure I don’t stick my thumb out. What I need is a powerful woman named Greta who will grab me every two hours and throw me down on the floor and force my eyes open and drop eyedrops in them. ![]() I need to irrigate the eyes but in searching for eyedrops I often come across something more interesting such as an old photograph of the staff at YMCA’s Camp Warren in Eveleth, Minnesota, one including me, 19, tall and lean, third row on the left, and now I try to remember the names of the others, meanwhile my eyes dry up. ![]() A few days at the Mayo Clinic and I see that I must change my life. ![]()
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