The short holiday week speeds by and I feel like I am slowly gaining traction at work. Conditions are extremely muddy and it just keeps raining, but I am that squeaky wheel that won’t give up.
My goal for today is getting to the gym. This idea is totally stressing me out since I have to get my fingerprint taken as well as remember my NYS license id number to prove my identity. The train and bus drag on and I’m nervous I won’t make it to the 615 spinning class.
I manage to walk in with two minutes to spare. I’m so lucky I have taken spinning classes before because I would be so lost without the language. I find bike number 10, the one assigned to my name and the instructor promptly and politely introduces himself and asks if I need any help. He instructs me of the words I should listen for and I can tell this class will be great. There is party lighting, pumping music and a full room of about 45 spinners.
About 12 minutes into the class, my worst nightmare begins…A woman starts walking down my row looking at all the bike numbers to find her assigned bike. There are no empty bikes near me so I know someone has made a mistake. I take a huge sigh of relief when she walks past me and approaches the half naked, taking herself to seriously, blondie next to me. I am mortified. For her. Because clearly this is the worst thing- to be embarrassed like this, at the gym, in front of 44 other people, while you’re half naked.
She huffs and puffs off and marches out to most likely confirm which number bike she should be on. It’s bike number 1, not 11. Not only are exercisers serious about their fitness, but also the clothing (or lack thereof) to wear to the gym. I feel like there are naked people all around me, but I manage to mind my own business.
After spin, I meet my friend who also belongs to the San Lucas Body Tech and we head to dinner with the Instiglians. Zorba’s, apparently the best pizza in town. Here we go, more pizza, while in Colombia…Traffic isn’t terrible and I’m lucky I am with someone who knows the city. We find parking right near the restaurant and surprisingly enough the pizza and sangria are amazing. I gladly cough up the $10 for this meal.
I’m beginning to feel much more comfortable in my own skin here. My friends are still my co-workers, but I can accept that for right now.