I'm sitting here at 2:14 in the morning and my left knee is acting up again, the one I had the scope on back in ‘09 after that incident with the tractor out at my brother's place, but it’s not even about the knee really though that’s part of it because when you’re 61 and trying to tell a 22-year-old how to squat it feels... I don't know. It's just a little thing but it's eating at me and I can't sleep. It’s stupid to even be typing this out but I feel like I have to say it to someone who doesn't know me, since in this town everyone knows what kind of truck you drive and what you buy at the hardware store before you even get home. I’ve been the "fitness guy" in this area since before the highway was paved over by the old mill, back when people actually worked with their hands instead of just wanting to look like they do for photos, and I look at these kids—Bobby’s son, you know the one with the red truck that always peels out by the high school—and I wonder what I’m even leaving behind besides some rusty plates and a bunch of clipboards with names like Sarah and Greg who probably won't remember my name in five years. It's just legacy stuff that probably doesn't matter when the lights go out, but anyway, the reason I'm up is because of what happened today after the 7:00pm session. So yesterday now, I guess, I stopped at Patty’s Bakery around 4:15 because I knew I had that 5:00 session with Mrs. Higgins and then the late one with the high school quarterback, and I bought a bag. Six of them. The ones with the thick glaze that flakes off like paint on an old shed and the jelly ones that always leak through the paper. I hid them in the side pocket of my old blue Adidas bag, the one with the broken zipper on the left side, under the extra towels I keep for when the humidity gets too high in the summer and the walls start to sweat. It's not a big deal, I mean it's just sugar, but I'm the one who's supposed to be the example for everyone in this county. I waited. I watched the clock—56 minutes past 7—until the last car, that silver Ford with the dented bumper, finally pulled out of the gravel lot and then I went into the locker room, the back one where the light flickers if you turn the fan on at the same time, and I just sat on the bench. One. Two. Three.