THE WORKOUT

     Today being Daddy/Daughter Day throughout this great land of ours presented the perfect opportunity to introduce Shiloh Johnson to Magic Johnson. Now before you loquacious, taletelling types jump to conclusions, chill out and let me explain. I workout 5 to 6 days a week at a fitness club owned by the former Laker Hall of Famer. It is a great place to get your lift on. Terrific panoramic view of the Westside of the city, including beach and airport. At the top of every stairwell, there is a larger than lifesize poster of Magic. Lifting weights in one shot smiling. Shooting hoops in another, smiling. Even adorned with silk robe and boxing gloves, and of course, smiling. Hey, if I had the success he's had in business and as an athlete, I'd be smiling too. Even the life changing HIV situation was handled with the aplomb that only Magic could muster. He is truly amazing. {Hold up a minute, it's Shiloh's time to bang on my computer keys, and my time to repeat "NO", over and over again and hope she loses interest. Good, she found some semi-important document to mangle}. Where was I, right, Magic's 24 Hour Fitness. First time I met Magic, we were at the center jump circle at Pauley Pavillion before his rookie year. He was all of 19 years old and had captured the attention of the sporting world, we NBAers included. After I received thunderous applause when I was introduced at the start of the charity game, he said to me, "this is your city". I prophetically retorted, "if you play like you did in college, it'll be your city." How right I was.
     But I digress, I mean seriously digress,which becomes more exciting the older you get. Anywho (Seattle people say that), Shiloh and I were headed for the workout. Talk about your multi-tasking. First, figuring out these new fangled car seats, you need a crash course in bio-engineering. I got it right, for the most part. Then, trying to juggle my workout bag, Shiloh's diaper bag, and oh yeah, Shiloh, was no easy feat. Throw in some rain slickened stairs leading to the driveway, and I was one misstep away from slipping into disaster. Once parked at the Health Club, I had to repeat the bags plus Shiloh prestidigitation. Oops, her knit hat bites the dust and falls on the dampened asphalt. As I slide it back on her head, I say to myself, "what Mommie doesn't know won't hurt her."
      As I enter the club, I have to check-in using the new fingerprint technology. Am I entering Langley, or is this Magic's 24? I am greeted by the always ebullient Ebony from behind the counter. Her friendly smile and positive attitude as consistent as death and taxes. She then utters that question in the midst of her statement that makes me cower, "look at Mr. Johnson, babysitting. Is this your Granddaughter?" Ouch. Touche. All that. "No, this is my daughter." In eye roll midstream she asks her name and I tell her. So it's off to Kid's Club for Shiloh, and off to my futile attempt to stave off the gravitational inevitability for Daddy. Did my 40 minutes of cardio on the  low seated stationary bike, or "Big Wheel", as the younger guys call it. Next, got in my customary lift on the rope extension machine. Just my luck, one of the over inflated exercise balls was available and I was in crunch heaven. Just a little over an hour and it was time to hit the pool, and then a steam and shower. Alas, it was not to be, for at that very moment, an ominous voice blared from the intercom, it was Ebony the Ebullient,  "Mar-kweese Johnson, please report to the Kids Club. I dare not look anyone in the eye as I unobtrusively made my way toward the stairwell. A bunch of wisenheimers that would love to have a little fun at my expense populate the second floor. I acknowledged pugilistic Magic and headed down the stairs. I got to the Kid's Club, unscathed, to find Shiloh sitting in the caretaker's lap, one nearly evaporated tear on the left side of her face. She lit up like a Christmas tree when she saw me, reached out her arms. Time to blow this popsicle stand...