Forecast was: Rain. Rain. Rain. Followed by more rain.
So exercise will be indoors. Jessamyn gives me a J. Crew shopping bag for my stuff before we head via subway to Soul-Cycle central in Tribeca. We are suspicious about the damp shopping bag, but it just has to get me home. It’s crazy town wet/crowded everywhere. We have bikes on the opposite sides of the studio. The umbrella stands overflow, umbrellas tipped in every corner. Towels on the floor.
In the studio, on the bike, my exercise towel gets just as wet. Huff. Puff. People make strategic early exits to nab showers and dash to work. I’ve brought fresh clothes, to escape post-exercise soaking, but it is so wet everywhere outside and I’m going home to shower, so what, exactly, is the point?
The walk from Soul Cycle to the subway is four blocks. I try to shrink myself, my purse, and my J. Crew bag under the diameter of my umbrella. Except the wind is blowing so hard even that doesn’t help much.
Swipe my Metro card. And carefully consider my train options. Jessamyn has dashed to work…and I feel like a kid going to school alone for the first time, looking each direction six times before taking a step. I want the downtown train, #2 or #3. I do NOT want to ride the wrong way and have to turn around. Check myself three times before going down another flight of stairs to the platform.
But something is wrong. What?
I sense the problem before I know what it is.
Oh yes. The shopping bag has fallen to bits. I am Gretel in the fairy tale Hansel and Gretel, but instead of breadcrumbs, trailing behind me on the sloppy black stairs, there is a bra, panties, band-aids, a clean shirt, deodorant, a hairbrush, fresh socks, and jeans.
There, on the wet stairs, is absolutely everything a woman needs to get dressed.