Well, as you probably know, nearly a foot of snow hit NYC yesterday. And, as you can probably guess, this meant that I did not go out and run on the streets. I wanted to go in the morning, but I got up late and got caught up in work drama (is the school closed? are classes being held? - multiply that times 107 student emails). By the time I was ready to go, the streets were in the process of becoming unnavigable. I don't have yaktrax or, um, dedication, so I bailed on running outside.
I did go to the gym, though. Whew! The MTA was reporting that ridership was down by 40% today, and let me tell you where those people were: my gym. Busy busy busy.
I didn't want to dreadmill it two days in a row, so I did 45 minutes on the elliptical. I'm not a fan of that machine. It takes the repetitive boredom of a treadmill and makes it even more like a hamster wheel. I'm not sure what the next step in gym tedium is, but nothing screams "I'm just getting my 20 minutes at the gym in so I can look good at the club, not because I'm concerned about my health or enjoy the way my body moves" more to me than the elliptical. Not even the recumbent bike - or the lazy person's bike, as my brother's trainer referred to it.
To add insult to injury, no matter how hard I ellipticalled it, I couldn't get my heart rate above 140. It was trying to hover around 115. I mean, seriously! I could have just watched a scary movie and been better off!
Also: you know you've been to the gym too frequently when you find yourself recognizing all of the songs on the "Latin Hits" video station on the built-in tvs. And you don't speak Spanish or have any other exposure to Latino culture.
Now, excuse me while I go back to staring out my window at the dirty snow-laden wonderland that is this fair city.
On I went, out of the wood, passing the man leading without knowing I was going to do so. Flip-flap, flip-flap, jog-trot, jog-trot, curnchslap-crunchslap, across the middle of a broad field again, rhythmically running in my greyhound effortless fashion, knowing I had won the race though it wasn't half over, won it if I wanted it, could go on for ten or fifteen or twenty miles if I had to and drop dead at the finish of it, which would be the same, in the end, as living an honest life like the governor wanted me to. -Alan Sillitoe, "Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner"