Another beautiful day in the Second City.
And also, my sunburn seems to have receded, slightly.
Enough for me to stop wearing long sleeves in shame.
Thank God, because someone decided that AC is not a thing in my office, and it nearly ended me yesterday.
There is nothing more professional than sweating for eight hours in a cube.
This morning, after taking a badly needed rest day (as in, I couldn’t move my arms), I decided to go for a nice long run.
And I went to the gym.
Because I’m a pansy, and it’s hot outside.
Somewhere deep within, I know I’m running an 8k next week and it would probably be good form to get myself outside more than the one time I’ve accomplished it in the last few weeks, but as mentioned above, pansy.
So instead I headed for an air-conditioned treadmill.
When I first headed into the gym, I presented my license as way of identifying myself.
I lost my Y card.
I mean, I’ve lost my Y card 100 times.
But I’ve yet to replace the most recent loss for the past, oh, six months or so.
“You still have no card?” said the 20 year old boy who works the front desk to me.
He patiently types my name into the system at least three times a week.
He didn’t look so patient this time.
He was glaring.
It was before six am.
I was too tired to glare back.
I admitted my transgression, and apologized, saying that I was just never at the gym when the office was open, since I was usually there so early (because I am intense and also, woe is me, was what I was trying to convey).
“The office is open now. Go get a card.”
I went upstairs, let them print out the 101st Y card I’ve owned (still with the horrific, I just finished college and yes I am eating wings every night for dinner with a side of Miller Lite photo on it), and even paid for it this time.
The fee is 5 dollars. Unless they take pity on you and give you the first 100 replacements for free.
I guess my luck’s run out.
I finally got myself to a treadmill, pounded out 5.5 miles (to the sound of my own breathing, as Lady Gaga and my ancient iPod failed me), and then headed out the Y door, averting my eyes from the tiny boy at the front desk who had rightfully admonished me.
Here’s hoping by the time I lose this Y card he’s been promoted to summer camp crew.
I’m taking my next run outside.
No cards required, no membership desk to disappoint.
Have a good one, chickens!