One of the greatest elements of New York is the surprises. Last week, Austin walked to lunch and found himself on the set of an HBO show. I’ve been late to work because of impromptu parades and rallys on Atlantic Avenue. I’ve called the police to report a hit and run in Brooklyn Heights, witnessed al freso breakups and sat next to strangers in costumes on the subway. Anything can happen when you leave the security of your apartment, and little of it shocks me anymore. It’s the little deviations from the mundane that make life extraordinary.
I thought I had finally found my groove at work, nodding to Oscar at the juice bar on my way in as he winks in understanding (I like my daily Green Machine made early and then refrigerated until lunch so it’s cold). I jog up the 4 flights of stairs, waving over my shoulder to Arthur at the front desk as I round the corner and bound into the pilates studio just in time for my first client. The best part of teaching in a facility as large as Equinox is that you’re pretty much shamed into exercising during your breaks. The studio is a meager 100 square feet with 10 pieces of pilates apparatus crammed in, so in the event of a lapse in clients, there is nowhere to escape to except the gym. And so I spend my hour break on Tuesdays in the same spinning class with the same playlist and same 3 hill routine. It’s not tired, but maybe I am.
I felt like I was sleepwalking yesterday, wearily pedaling off the excesses of an especially fun holiday weekend when in walked the substitute instructor. Gaunt, covered in tattoos and wrapping his shaved head with a Rambo-style bandana, he snapped me out of my haze and catapulted the class into into high gear. Sometimes, a grown-man break-dancing to Madonna’s “Like A Prayer” between rows of stationary bikes while shouting “chase the beat” will do that to you.
And on a completely random note….
When your job is active and away from a computer, it’s easy to lose track of the date. But I will never miss the first of any month. The U-Hauls, movers, and stacks of broken down boxes invade streets and sidewalks at every turn. Each time I look up to see a big yellow Penske truck, I immediately being humming a popular little number from 9th grade…..happy June 1!
Thought this would be a behemian read