1st off, I'm notorious about over-packing for trips and OCD about checking my gym bag the night before I leave for work in the a.m. not because I'm an Over-prepared Oliver Billy-Boy Scout. It's because, gawdammit, I'm a Forgetful Francis. And this is true, because over the last 5 years I've belonged to my gym I've forgotten a fresh pair of underwear no less than...a lot. Okay? I've just plum forgotten.
Today, I had the luxury of the morning off and so I was able to piece my ensemble (always tastefully matching my bandana, shorts, AND wrist bands) prior to the gym- and in a moment of divine inspiration I decided to toss my work clothes in my bag and under-dress my ensemble.
Except...except except someone with two thumbs and half a brain didn't pack a work shirt. That's right. Mikey gets to the gym and realizes that he just has his tank top...which will eventually become sodden and soggy in the upcoming 75 minute workout.
Now...you might be thinking "So what? You forget your man-ties and now you've forgotten a shirt. Where's the headsmack graphic?" Oh. That's because I was waiting to tell you that squirreled away in the bottom of my gym bag next to my shaving kit in a veritable nest is the following:
- 2 extra pair of boxer briefs.
- 3 extra pair of socks.
- 1 pair of long underwear.
- 1 extra bandana/wrist guards wrapped together.
So...I have back up. And I cleverly wonder if I can cobble together some Tom Hanks/Castaway refugee garment from the above. I quickly realize...I can't. Natch.
Now, lest you think I Weismuller'd out of there to make a beeline for my jacket I want to remind you that we are in Minnesota in February- which affords me the luxury of wearing my zippered hoodie 80% of the time. You know? Without a shirt? Which, I'll be honest, feels weird. The zipper. On bare skin. Like wearing shoes without socks or going commando. Not "awful", per se. Just unnatural. I couldn't even pull off the "Wolverine in the basement of the X-Mansion" scene from the 1st X-Men movie? Remember?
(There is a very legitmate fear of losing chest hair on the zipper. Don't pretend this isn't a real thing.)
So...less like Wolverine, and more like an embarrassed Terminator. Which nearly happened the time I almost bolted out of the Men's Locker Room bare-ass because I'd forgotten a script I was working on and my Ipod in the fitness area.
We can now add that one to the current list of gymfails that includes forgotten skivvies, too-small or disintegrating t-shirts, gassy treadmill runs, "sweating out toxins" the day after a gin-fueled bachelor party by sitting in the sauna and smelling like a liquor store, and forcing the staff to move the floor fans from the weight room to the Men's Locker Room bathroom suspiciously minutes after I used it and noticed a fellow gym member come in after me- do an about face with a stink eye- and then make them re-circulate the air.*
I'm surprised that with all of these stupid gymfails I haven't actually, you know, had an actual accident on a piece of equipment. (Knocks on wood)
*I'm only slightly mortified that I shared that. I could have been being paranoid, but no. I own that.
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