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In the end, I didn't go to the gym yesterday, because I suddenly didn't want to deal with people, even in the low-key way of sharing a subway car or a weight room with them. Instead, ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
cattitude and I spent the afternoon lazily at home; he has a summer cold and thus is low on energy, and I just wanted to be around him, rather than to do anything specific.
Today, I woke up early and did a modified version of my out-in-40-minutes routine: I took time for a bit of computer stuff, and two cups of tea, but I was out around nine a.m.
The first thing that happened at the gym was that I couldn't find my lock. I went through my pack quite thoroughly, gave up, and was about to go upstairs and buy a new one when I glanced at the towel bin. There was a lock hanging from it--this is standard practice when they find one, open, in the locker room. Having painted my lock so I could find it if I forgot my locker number, I was able to identify it. This was a significant relief, because it meant not having to learn a new combination.
The second thing that happened was that, as I was putting on my exercise top, I heard a ripping sound. The seam under one arm had torn halfway through, sufficiently that it wouldn't go on in any kind of comfortable/supportive way. This meant working out in my street clothes, namely a tie-dyed Flying Karamazov Brothers t-shirt (which also has small holes, one of which seems to have gotten larger when I took it off just now) and a bra not of the sports bra variety. It worked, except for being warmer than I like--the main reason I work out in the combination shirt and sports bra is that it's the minimal clothing, and thus the least heat retention, I can get away with.
These nuisances aside, I had a decent workout. (Numbers at the end of this entry.) After exercising, I went down to Chinatown for lunch. I was all set to contemplate the menu at Excellent Dumpling, but the waitress who seated me asked "Your usual?" so I said yes, and drank tea and ate sweet ginger duck. For dessert, I had a scallion pancake--I'd contemplated walking over to the Chinatown Ice Cream Factory, but it didn't seem worth the crowds.
A quick stop in the East Village was fruitless, because the Sock Man on St. Marks Place was closed; I don't know if they're celebrating the holiday, or take every Sunday off. The next stop, on the Indian strip on Lex in the upper 20s, succeeded. Kalustyan was closed for the holiday, but the place next door was open. The man at the counter greeted me, I told him I was looking for ginger paste, and he pointed me at the refrigerator behind me. I am very pleased, because ginger paste has been harder to find than I'd expected, and we had almost used up the previous jar. I also got a jar of chutney, Major Grey's because Cattitude says he likes it and the sweet mango/lime I liked seems to no longer exist.
And now I'm home, watching Julian stalk nothing in particular.
( Gym numbers )
cattitude and I spent the afternoon lazily at home; he has a summer cold and thus is low on energy, and I just wanted to be around him, rather than to do anything specific.Today, I woke up early and did a modified version of my out-in-40-minutes routine: I took time for a bit of computer stuff, and two cups of tea, but I was out around nine a.m.
The first thing that happened at the gym was that I couldn't find my lock. I went through my pack quite thoroughly, gave up, and was about to go upstairs and buy a new one when I glanced at the towel bin. There was a lock hanging from it--this is standard practice when they find one, open, in the locker room. Having painted my lock so I could find it if I forgot my locker number, I was able to identify it. This was a significant relief, because it meant not having to learn a new combination.
The second thing that happened was that, as I was putting on my exercise top, I heard a ripping sound. The seam under one arm had torn halfway through, sufficiently that it wouldn't go on in any kind of comfortable/supportive way. This meant working out in my street clothes, namely a tie-dyed Flying Karamazov Brothers t-shirt (which also has small holes, one of which seems to have gotten larger when I took it off just now) and a bra not of the sports bra variety. It worked, except for being warmer than I like--the main reason I work out in the combination shirt and sports bra is that it's the minimal clothing, and thus the least heat retention, I can get away with.
These nuisances aside, I had a decent workout. (Numbers at the end of this entry.) After exercising, I went down to Chinatown for lunch. I was all set to contemplate the menu at Excellent Dumpling, but the waitress who seated me asked "Your usual?" so I said yes, and drank tea and ate sweet ginger duck. For dessert, I had a scallion pancake--I'd contemplated walking over to the Chinatown Ice Cream Factory, but it didn't seem worth the crowds.
A quick stop in the East Village was fruitless, because the Sock Man on St. Marks Place was closed; I don't know if they're celebrating the holiday, or take every Sunday off. The next stop, on the Indian strip on Lex in the upper 20s, succeeded. Kalustyan was closed for the holiday, but the place next door was open. The man at the counter greeted me, I told him I was looking for ginger paste, and he pointed me at the refrigerator behind me. I am very pleased, because ginger paste has been harder to find than I'd expected, and we had almost used up the previous jar. I also got a jar of chutney, Major Grey's because Cattitude says he likes it and the sweet mango/lime I liked seems to no longer exist.
And now I'm home, watching Julian stalk nothing in particular.
( Gym numbers )