Monday, March 18
I rode BlackJack, ran three miles on a gym “dreadmill,” and unrolled my yoga mat in an empty aerobics room separated from the rest of the gym by a glass wall. I warmed up with sun salutations then laid flat on my back to stretch my hamstrings and hips. I bent my right knee, wrapped my pointer and middle fingers around my right big toe, and extending my leg straight into the air. I lowered it ninety degrees to the right, released my inner thigh muscles, then moved onto my left leg. As I curled my torso up from the floor to grab my left big toe, I saw an old man sitting on an exercise machine with his eyes laser focused on my crotch. His mouth was agape. There might have been drool. I was about to give him the finger but started laughing hysterically. He quickly averted his gaze. I thought, “Some poor woman is married to that.” Then I laughed harder realizing, “I’m that woman, but not for long.”
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