HA! So I did manage to get my run in yesterday. I went to the gym in my super posh swank hotel and I hopped on a treadmill and I did it. I’m used to running at my gym, which is smack in the middle of Calzone Dipped in Ranchville and French Fryshire. What I’m saying is, I’m almost always one of the most in shape people there. Not so in a NYC gym.
Running, which I wanted to do no matter what, became a matter of necessity after my 5,000 calorie dinner. Our hotel, The London, houses Gordon Ramsey’s flagship NYC restaurant. We tried to get a reservation there for dinner, but were told it was booked up, with that sort of tight lipped, sneering smile that really means “I know you shop at Marshall’s. Ew”.
We decided to retaliate by going to Bobby Flay’s restaurant, Bar Americain, instead. TAKE THAT GORDON RAMSEY! I don’t want to say that Pittsburgh doesn’t have a great foodie scene, because we have come leaps and bounds in the past ten years, but nothing beats a really good Manhattan restaurant. I had a pork chop that was so good I wanted to lean over and punch someone in the face. And the bottle of Susan Balbo Malbec was so tasty I almost asked for a straw and a few minutes alone so I could make out with it.
We then head back to the hotel, washed everything down with another glass of Malbec, and headed to our separate rooms. I was so in love with my hotel room, I didn’t want to go to sleep. Instead, I spent an hour on my lap top, sending ill-advised work emails (remember, I had about six glasses of really good wine at this point) and pretending like I was Carrie Bradshaw. If Carrie Bradshaw were less annoying, could care less about shoes, and was a Steeler’s fan.
6:45 am hits, and I suit up for the gym. I don’t wear my cute running clothes to run at the gym. I save that for when I’m outside and people are going to see me and be all like, “Wow, look at how fit and cute she is.” I am not worried about impressing anyone at my gym (see first paragraph), so I usually bust out my scrubbiest scrubs for my indoor jaunts.
Which is a huge mistake in NYC, because the people there dress to kill 24/7, and that includes the gym. They are also Very Very Serious about their running. They were all running at a pace that I would describe as Outrun Bear, barely breaking a sweat. They certainly weren’t huffing and puffing, which made it all the more awkward when I started running at my normal pace, Half Heartedly Trying to Flag Down Garbage Man.
At one point I made the fatal mistake of looking over to see what the guy next to me was doing. This resulted in me almost flying off my treadmill, but not before I noticed that he had been running 9 minute miles for an hour and a half. That was it. Sweating, and inappropriately dressed, I called it. 3 measly miles. Not even enough to burn off the wine from the night before.
Oh well. It was something, and something is always better than nothing. Unless you’re talking about herpes. I did what I set out to do. I maintained my running while traveling for work. I added three miles to my week that wouldn’t have been there had I decided to sleep in and just let that sinfully delicious pork chop attach itself right to my thighs. I didn’t need to feel bad; I was triumphant!
I learned a very valuable lesson, too. The next time I go to NYC, I need to bring my A Game running gear, and I need to not look over. Ever.
Yours in successification,