Working … Out

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 …

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