I didn't want to go back to Brooklyn, then come back all the way into the city. So, I convinced myself - after a couple1 beers - that I would go over to my girlfriend's place as planned, and get up earlier than usual the next morning so I could trek back to my apartment, get my stuff, and from there get to the gym. All before work.
Yeah, that didn't happen. I got up at seven-thirty, not seven. My original plan had no chance in hell of working(it was a precarious idea even I had gotten up at seven). So, walking to the six train(the dreaded, dreaded six train...) I decided I would just go to work, getting there really early, and I would count this as kind of a half-day; half-doing what I was supposed to do. Not a total failure.
Then I remembered my running shoes are almost five years old. I've been meaning to get new ones.
So, at 8:15 in the morning, I was wandering the Modell's in Times Square - carrying my pool cue from the night before - shoe shopping. I got some mid-priced Nike running shoes, and some discounted gym wear(shirt, shorts, and socks).
Now, I'm at my desk, a large plastic Modell's bag next to my desk. Inside it: my new, now sweaty gym clothes, and my old shoes(I'm wearing the running shoes, under the pretense of "breaking them in" but really because they are more comfortable then the shoes I was wearing).
Streak alive at lucky thirteen.
1The term "couple" can be explained by the following: 2 =< (true number of beers) < 10.