Hilariously high ponytail. Eyes closed.
“Blast from the past,” I cackled.
The photo on the monitor was from high school.
The woman at the counter entered my name and found a record in the city gym system.
Welcome back — kind of.
The high-school-era gym is across town, so this is a new (as in, different) location but an ancient facility.
Ten days ago, the daily sweat was at a palace with saltwater pools, bamboo flooring in the hot yoga studio, and staff who obsessively hosed down the showers.
Now it’s in a grimy dungeon with seniors and students; fluorescent lighting and the paper towel dispenser’s broken.
Started from the bottom …
Kelly Roche - Storyteller 