What, no jams?

Ok, so what do I take to the gym?

I have been packing enough crap to spend the weekend. I can hardly get it into my locker. Small backpack with shoes, shorts, shirt, towel, water bottle, iPod, ahampoo, body wash, puffy scrubby thing, deodorant -- and of course, a nylon bag to throw all the wet stuff in when I'm done.

This is stupid.

I went looking for gym bags on line because my first impulse when faced with a problem is to either read about it or buy something. Screw it. Tonight I just rolled some stuff up in a towel and left the luggage in the car. Wait, forgot my shoes. Back. Wait, forgot my little key tag bar coded id thingy. Back. Wait, I forgot my iPod. I left it in the player at the office. No jams!

The jams are important. Without my personal soundtrack, walking was more like work than before, though I managed to keep the treadmill running for the entire two miles (dragging your feet apparently trips a safety feature.) The cardio monitor was not functioning so I didn't have that data to distract me. I concentrated on picking up my feet and driving the belt back with each stride. Mrs P joined me. She made about half a dozen new friends. I grunted at a couple of guys I'd never met before. She's sort of the friendly one in the Pennsy family.

I listened to my breath, tried to ignore ESPN micro-analyzing the NFL playoffs, watched some people work on the weight machines. I saw a woman spinning a jump rope like she was trying to generate electricity. Some of these people intimidate me, but mostly I admire the work they put in and the way their bodies reward them.

It was a good day at the gym. I did miss the jams, though.

Peace,
Pennsy
=======

1/16/08, cold winter night
2 miles
30 minutes