Time to Broach the Coach

Now that I'm convinced spring is arriving (eventually if not as immediately as I would have preferred), I'm trying to get back into my 'I Want to Live Forever Or Die Trying' regimen which consists of going to a nearby fitness center a five minute drive from my house an yes I'm aware of the irony of driving instead of walking (mind your own business). 

It's not that I'm training for an Iron Man competition or to run with my brother Adam on one of his escape attempts. I'm trying to not be (quite so) visible from space--the NSA guys actually use me to calibrate one of their satellite spy cameras when I'm out on weekends (all I wanted was a couple of lousy wallet size prints but no....). 

Between the health issues and replacement joints I have, I've long since conceded the best I can do is stage an organized retreat in the face of old age (hell, I am the face of old age) and I have surrendered gracefully those things of youth like much of my hair, my teeth, relatively clear skin, tuna, clean air as well hair-free ears while awaiting history's final judgment. 

I'm not at my sharpest when I get up in the morning. Or before I turn in at night  Or, now that I think about it, during daylight and night hours. 

Anyway, my point is I have a routine for 'doing the gym stuff' that involves wearing the gym clothes and carrying (on hangers) the very nicely pressed trousers and shirt (and belt and tie) my wife lays out the night before for me. I get into the car and go to the fitness center w. When I finish I head back to the car and never even glance at the back seat or the clothes on the hanger in the window. That's how sure I am in my routine. 

On more than one occasion, however, I've gotten to work, parked and exited the vehicle, opened the back door while reaching for the work clothes' hangers above the passenger window. Of course, the clothes aren't there. Tha's my visual to remember I've left them on a hook in the house.The good news is, of course, I haven't lost them, I know where they are; we're just not in anywhere near the same place. 

For reasons that make it genetically impossible for me to spend a week NOT forgetting my change of clothes, I have in my office a surfeit of work-out togs, just in case. Like maybe the problem is the gym clothes.  Except because the problem is NOT the gym clothes, my office looks a little like a locker threw up, except neater. People who wander the hall just assume, I guess, I'm having another casual Friday even if the calendar says otherwise. 

As long as I don't start forgetting the gym clothes on days other than (or even the same as) the ones when I forget the work clothes, I won't have to hide behind my desk all day. Even then, as long as nobody plays the National Anthem, the day should be like butter though it could get tricky when I frown at the crumbs of the crust of bread....
-bill kenny