Of course, in my last-minute rush to catch the train in, I forgot my: (a) iPod, and (b) swim trunks. And while skipping the pool was easy enough (no shorts--no swimming), skipping the sound looked to be brutal. So I bought some headphones from one of the discount vendors on 14th Street and plugged them in to EM's headphone jack.
If you've ever tried to use an elliptical machine while tuning the channel for a good one to watch, you know what it is to court disaster. Instead of tumbling to the floor, I settled for a Spanish-language channel, which was playing Reign of Fire with language overdubs. Nothing like the Lucinda Williams, Murs, Portishead, or the African Swim I had in mind, but you know: beggars, choosers, and me.
Much better in Spanish
Speaking of wars to be raged, I'd like to wage one against ho sweat, but my metabolism is a hot, perspiration-prone mess. I get off the machine after a good 30-30 (minutes forward, minutes backwards) session and look like...a ho. Even 30 minutes on the stationary cycle leave me with a shirt so sweaty I can wring it out. Yep: sexy old me. But I came across a few tricks--one that brings my crusade to document the cruelty of ho sweat to an end, the other a way to keep from dripping during my workout. And before you suggest I bring a towel, I'll have you know that I do.
But I digress: I now wear my towel red baron style: slung across my neck and over my shoulder. Not only does it grant me a longer swath of towel to wipe down with, it acts as a sweatband for my neck. Looks wise, it's not the sort of thing that the cool kids would sport--it looks very Where's Waldo--but looking cool is a luxury this sweat fiend can ill afford.
Ho sweat exposed
I really should look into buying Shamwow wholesale. If not to use for shirt material, then for a workout towel at the very least.
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