Writing Prompt: Sweat poured down his face.

Morning all. We have reached Friday, only one prompt left for the week. Shall we see what it brings? Timers set and let’s get writing.

I think I need to go back and pull this one apart, adding things. Make this a nemesis situation. Could be fun.

Friday, March 29^th: Sweat poured down his face.

Sweat poured down his face.  He hated sweating.  ‘Think of longer life,’  he tried telling himself.  It didn’t work.  Harold long since realized that if it was a choice between living a long life only drinking wheatgrass smoothies or a shorter one laced with camembert and red wine he would take the shorter path every time.

‘Think of the better looking you,’ he tried again as he pushed through another set. Sweat dripped down his face.  He was middle aged, had a decent but relatively boring job and had hobbies that were mostly solitary and only interesting to other middle aged men.  Loosing hs extra weight would not be bringing a bevy of bikini clad beauties to his doorstep.

‘Think of Jameson,’ He tried, his brain trying to come up with one more reason.  It was a hail mary pass and it landed.  Jamison, who always looked down on him. Who was always fit and seemingly ready to run a marathon at the drop of a hat.  Jamison who always made him feel vaguely inadequate in every conversation. 

Harold liked his life, he liked pretty much every aspect except for the expanding section around his middle.  Yet somehow in every conversation with Jamison, he came out feeling as though he lost some sort of competition.  It was ridiculous.  He knew it was.  He didn’t want Jamison’s life.  He knew he would be bored silly with it and annoyed enough in less than a week to walk out. 

And yet somehow Jameson always had that effect on him. ‘Probably an after effect of his parents naming him after a whiskey.’

Harold thought as he pushed himself further.  At the last family gathering, Jameson’s conversational topics seemed to target Harold’s expanding waistline.  The comments were done subtly and off hand as though he hadn’t realized the references included Harold.  But there was a look in his eyes and Harold knew it did.  He was bound and determined that this time, Jameson would at least harp on something else.