July 28, 2012
Not even one block away from my apartment, and already I'm wanting to turn around, go back home, politely ditch the bike, take a shower (again), and opt for the subway downtown to meet my friend for girl-gabbing over tea (iced, natch). Still, I press on, determined to fulfill a self-imposed double-duty transportation/workout. By the time I get down to the Flatiron, maybe 25 minutes later, my pants (why did I choose jeans, even though cropped?) are a leaden lump and my shirt sticks to me like a Colorform. I may as well have done Bikram in a sauna. Stunning.