Post by lawrence josef grimani on Jun 19, 2011 16:15:38 GMT -5
Lawrence felt threatened – invaded even. The ceramics professor scowled a little bit as he trudged across campus, carrying a brown leather satchel close to his side that he clung to a bit lovingly. Even as his long legs carried him across the sidewalks, and sometimes grass, one arm cradled it close to his hip. The professor, clad abnormally in basketball shorts and a zip up cotton jacket, stopped for a moment, glanced around suspiciously, and continued his trudge through the drizzling rain that had begun to come down outside.
“Stop watching info-commercials, they said,” the man muttered as he skirted the perimeter of a building. He shook his head and pulled up his hood as a trickle of rain ran down his forehead, tracing its way down his face. Lawrence brushed it away with his free hand and patted his satchel, assuring himself that they had disappeared and that the guys hadn’t gotten ahold of his prized possession. “I’d never let them throw you away, Insanity.”
The professor bopped up the stairs of Manning, his newly purchased sneakers squeaking on the wet stone stairs as he walked. He felt a cold rush of air as he opened the clear glass doors and was greeted by the smell of industrial strength vinyl and the slightest whiff of dirty gym socks. It wasn’t an unpleasant smelling place, to Lawrence it smelled like a place where a mass amount of physical energy could be exuded and major results could be seen. Lawrence set his mouth in a straight line, determined to, “Dig Deeper,” with his workout today. Will and Drake would be impressed when they saw his new sixteen-pack and flexed out arms and all of it would be thanks to Insanity with Shawn T.
Lawrence pulled his hood off of his slightly spiked hair, now damp from the rain outside. The tall man had wiry muscle already on his frame, but the potter couldn’t be necessarily considered ‘ripped’ right now. He would change all of that with his new, super-intense workout, because the television had convinced him that he was probably less of a man because his muscles weren’t bursting out of his slightly olive tinged skin. He now had a smile spread across his decidedly sensual lips (one of his best features, he thought) that traveled up to his green flecked, gray-ish blue eyes. His shoes, still wet, squawked and squeaked up the rubber-covered stairs and he made more noise than he intended. Then again, he wasn’t necessarily hiding from his friends – he had simply gone to the gym while they were both involved in three-hour afternoon classes. Lawrence chuckled at his own brilliance.
After speaking to an attractive female student who was manning the desk that controlled the private exercise classrooms, he had a key in hand and was trotting happily toward a dark, empty classroom. He unlocked the door and flipped on the lights, pleased with the size of the room. There would be plenty of room for him to do the initial fitness test and all of the scissor kicks associated with it. A wall mounted flat screen television that rivaled even the size of his 42” baby at home had a DVD player mounted directly beneath it.
Digging around in his bag, he fished out a set of DVDs and set them on the shelf next to the DVD player. Popping one in, a video came up with an introduction to the workout system. The professor began to follow the instructions, jumping around, kicking, and all of the various tests that the system wanted him to complete to assess his physical condition. Halfway through, he wasn’t doing so well at any of them but was sweating like a madman and breathing in ragged gasps of breath, surprised at how out of shape he actually was.
It wasn’t as if Lawrence was a life-long athlete or anything like that, but he was simply amazed at how hard it was – even though Shawn T had promised him on the infomercial that he would get ripped, fast. His stomach hurt and sweat had soaked through his t-shirt as well as beaded on his brow. He left the DVD going and sat on the hardwood floor for a moment to catch his breath, shaking his head at the orders Shawn was barking.
“Che cavolo?” Lawrence asked under his still-ragged breath.
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*che cavolo is an Italian term kinda like, 'What the BLEEP?'
