You are riding the metro home from work. Your mind gets lost in thoughts of the Bahamas - sailing, swimming, sunbathing. You step off the train at your stop and look up only to realize you are two train lengths away from the exit - that's ok, nothing can discourage you today. Every step you take, every passing moment, is one step closer to the Bahamas.
But wait, what's this feeling on your leg? It's damp, no wait, it's downright wet. You reach your hand down to your leg and yes it's soaked. Now you look at your hand and leg in disgust. What is it? Why did I have to put my hand in it too - wasn't it bad enough that my leg was covered in it? Did you sit in it? Lean up against it? Did it leak on you from above; splash up from below? Is it coming from your body? Whatever it is, it's all over.
Your mind drifts away for a moment - nothing can upset you today - this is just a minor setback. Oh, but then it dawns it on you. That cold, wet, feeling could be nothing other than your water bottle leaking all over your gym bag. As it seeps out, it fills up your bag like a water balloon. "That's ok," you think to yourself. There's nothing important in there. Oh, but there is.
You stop on a metro bench to inspect the damage. Just gym clothes - that's ok - you ring it out. The water falls to the ground. You turn your bag upset down to drain it. Oh, but wait, there is something else in there - your iPod, oh right, and your headphones. But you've saved it before any serious damage.
You get to the gym and start dressing. You take out your gym clothes and that's right - one giant spot on your shirt is drenched - its cold, but it's not completely unpleasant. Oh, and one sock and one sneaker are drenched - together they make quite a pair. You get dressed anyway and show up to class looking like a half drowned rat - made all the more worse by the fact that you grabbed a t-shirt that's too big. Between the wetness and the oversizedness it's hanging down almost to your knees. The only things peaking out from this giant wet t-shirt are your chicken legs and scrawny arms.
Due to a schedule change, your class is cancelled, but you get convinced to do a "sports-inspired cardio workout for building strength and stamina." This "high energy interval training class uses powerful music to inspire and motivate people." The class gets going and you look at yourself - uncoordinated, scrawny, flailing about. Your left food stands in a puddle of cold, yet filtered, water. The instructor is a blonde, 30-something woman, with the energy of a teenage cheerleader who has had 10 shots of espresso. But you can't hate her. She looks better. She has more energy and she keeps telling you you're doing a great job even though you know you're the "special student" in the class.
The class gets going and everyone is dripping buckets of sweat. Your face is turning shades of red that can only be classified as purple. You start regretting that pizza hut personal pan pizza you had for lunch - because by "lunch," you mean 4pm snack. You're not sure if you're going to vomit, pass out, or break one of your chicken legs. You're pretty sure that there is the taste of blood in your mouth and you are still the least coordinated woman in the class. But that's ok.
That's right - nothing can upset you today - because today is one day closer to getting on that plane and arriving in the Bahamas! You get home, get ready for bed, and close your eyes - knowing that tomorrow your body is going to hate you. And you'll hate it right back, but that's OK.
No comments:
Post a Comment