FALLING WOMEN, AND HOW TO HELP THEM UP

Falling women need a good landing.

If you’re around when it happens, what’s the best move?

Since a fall is usually accidental, the landing part comes from basic instinct, not planning.

I’ve been that landing a few times, some better than others. You?

Safe Landing #1

Gyms with a sauna have one thing in common if I’m a member: Me.

I’ve been a fan of the hot house since high school. Back then wrestlers used to wrap up and find a warm place in the mechanical room of the local swimming pool.

The best I’ve seen was at the University of Iowa. It had exercise gear in the huge space. And it was corn-popping hot.

The gym sauna I used until last year always had a nice feel to it. There was an element of peace, if not quiet.

My routine was lifting first, sauna second, then run the pool after showering off.

Since my gym shorts were also swimming trunks, it all worked out. Yeah, that guy.

One day I popped in for a good sweat and noticed a familiar face and stopped there.

Of all the guys I’ve seen in the sauna, only one wore a Speedo. But he was from Taiwan so he gets a pass.

On the other hand, you never know what women might wear. A couple from India started working out together. I noticed them right off.

Why? Because I’m jealous of couples who work out together and leave relationship drama at the door. There, I said it.

Besides, I’m interested in other cultures enough to take note of who shows up to get strong.

India was in the house, and it was good. They were very considerate of each other, talking and listening with better manners than me. Shocking, I know.

The first time I saw them in the sauna the man wore a big swimsuit. The lady came in with the bare minimum, highlighting the bare part. Good manners say not to notice more than once.

She looked like the princess from The Man Who Would Be King.

Falling Women From The Top Deck

So I popped into the sauna and found a seat on the bottom bench near the furnace. The familiar faced woman sat on the upper bench. I nodded hello, sat, and let the heat sink in.

My mind didn’t wander even though she was a shocking vision. Maybe a little. On the gym floor she was a grinder doing coached-up routines. I’ve stolen a few of her exercises.

In the sauna she was proof that forty was the new twenty. She was gorgeous, and like a good man, I didn’t notice. At least not a second time.

After some time passed she stood up to leave. I scooted out of the way even though I wasn’t in the way. Again, a show of good manners. I keep track.

The bottom bench is about thirty inches high, the top bench another thirty. The lady stood, tripped, and took a header toward the floor.

I saw a flurry of arms and legs flailing out of the corner of my eye and reacted with a basic instinct: I put both arms out in front of me with palms up.

This lady fell awkwardly, bounced off my chest, and landed across my arms.

I closed my eyes

When I opened them I found a sweat-slick woman laying sideways across my lap. Timing. I caught her and froze. After closer inspection, the hand on my left arm was on her breast. The hand on my right arm was stuck in her crotch from the back side.

Neither of us moved until she rolled toward me and sat up.

“Thank you,” she said.

“It gets slippery in here. You okay?”

“I think so,” she said, adjusting her bikini.

I caught her on the way to what looked like certain death on hard tile.

She gave an embarrassed wave going out the door. We never acknowledged each other after that.

We didn’t do much acknowledging before, so it all worked out.

Falling Women At A Pool Table

One night I was shooting pool in a bar on SE 72nd.

It was a dive bar with a pool room so small they had the short stick.

Say a ball layed against the edge bumper on the right side. Change out sticks, put the long cue against the wall and use shortie. So I did.

Since I’m such a lame pool player I study the shots longer than guys who line it up and run the table.

Finally, I’m set to shoot but hear my cue scraping against the wall behind me. It’s falling, I thought. Instinct kicked in and without turning I reached back to catch it.

And I would have, except it wasn’t falling.

A woman in the room was passing by the tight space and moved my stick. I swung my right hand without looking to make the always impressive behind-the-back catch.

Instead of a pool cue in my hand, I found the woman. I’d backhanded her in the crotch and froze. She didn’t move either, but said, “Oooooo.”

I felt stuck in time for what seemed a too long, but was probably a few seconds. It was long enough to think I was about to get pool-cued by some jacked-up boyfriend or husband for grabbing his girl.

Our eyes met, hers were moist and dewy.

I cursed my hand and started apologizing profusely. She smiled and said, “Here’s your cue.”

Instead of leaving right then, I finished the game and one last beer.

After goodbyes and goodnights said, I was headed for the door when the woman waved me over.

“I want to leave with you,” she said, and stood up.

Babe magnets probably get this all the time, but I felt a little shook.

She was a stranger, but my kind of stranger. We walked to the parking lot.

Out in the darkness we embraced like we knew each other for years since our impromptu meeting. We didn’t know each other’s name. I barely knew my own.

She started moving against me and making soft sounds. Then she started crying.

“You okay?” I asked. She hugged me tighter and cried harder.

“My mom died today and I don’t know what to do,” she said.

The idea of standing in for someone at this moment slammed me. I was the only one she had? So, I did what needed doing with falling women.

After a few more minutes, I said, “Let’s take a walk up the street.”

I asked about her mom and her family and how they were taking it. She’d moved here a few months earlier with her boyfriend and lived with his friends until they broke up.

Her mom died a thousand miles away.

We talked it out, what she needed to do, who to call, where to go.

Back in the parking lot she asked if I needed a ride, if I’d like to go home with her.

I explained how these things work. Yes, I’d like to go home with her. No, I’m not going home with her.

I added that any man who took up with a woman on a night like this was a predator.

“I knew you weren’t a predator when I saw you,” she said, confirming my impression of myself.

“Why, thank you. Let’s give it enough time and see what happens,” I said at her car. “You’ve got enough to do and get through.”

“How will I see you again?” she asked.

“Same as tonight. I’ll be playing pool with the short stick.”

“I’d like that.”

“Then it’s a date.”

Except I never went back. I saw her car there a few times, but didn’t stop.

The Moral Of Falling Women

When people fall, be helpful. When women fall, try and catch them.

Helping people in pain is part of the human condition.

Making fun or them and taking advantage is more akin to the shit-heel condition.

You might be a shit-heel if every moment of life is something for you to jump on. It’s not.

People with balance problems don’t accidentally fall on others to get to know them better.

Showing a lack of awareness and coordination isn’t putting a best foot forward. Neither is using the opportunity to dominate.

The lady in the sauna needed short-term help. Budget about two minutes for that.

The lady in the pool hall needed help longer term.

That particular incident shined a light on a need for better connections. She needed a tribe. If she had one, it was lacking.

If she had a tribe it was back home. Maybe she didn’t like the tribe rules?

Tell me if you see yourself as a Knight In Shining Armor. Have you helped a damsel in distress? Would you?

Could you step up then walk away? Falling women need the right guy. Check that box sooner than later, before you’re the one in distress.