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There is a garage in our alley where a bunch of dudes lift weights most afternoons. It's more people than you'd think would occupy a four family, but not like "running an illegal gym" numbers.
Plus it's only half of the garage. A minivan and most of an old couch take up the rest of the space. Maybe 6 to 8 guys?
Anyway, I have no problem with Garage Gym. I like to imagine they are a scrappy weightlifting team training for the annual all-city meet.
Their opponents, as usual, are the wealthier kids from Portland Place with names like "Tripp" or "Stan Gable" who wear tennis sweaters and work out at an Equinox gym.
Earlier this summer Mick - he's with the scrappy gym - found a taxidermied cat somebody had put out next to the dumpster. The guys thought it was cool and adopted it as their mascot.
The "Cats" have never able to beat Tripp and Stan. Last summer they came so close, but their strongest guy Scooter got a flat tire on the way to the meet. Of course it was actually Tripp who secretly let the air out of the tires!
This year is going to be different though. What the Cats lack in modern equipment, AC, and personal wealth they make up in grit and heart. Plus Mick's dad has been sick, so Mick is dedicating this year's performance to him.
Whenever I pass by the gym I like to let my eye contact linger just a little too long, and mouth "go cats" at whoever hasn't looked away yet. They generally give me very confused looks in response but deep down I know they appreciate the support. #GoCats
