Confessions Of A Splenda Stealer

Wow. It’s been over a month since I’ve clicked the “Add New Post” on this blog. Sorry, all!

I could make some excuses, but I’ll spare the details and just get right back down to business.

The next few posts will be some of my columns from Hoboken Progress, which I also failed to post during my spontaneous hiatus from the blogosphere.

It’s been quite the morning. Currently, it’s right before 8:30 am. I spent the night at my parent’s house, and took the train into the city with the Dad. A 5:17 am train. Yep. I awoke at 4:55 AM, pulled on my clothes, grabbed my bags (and my lunch from the fridge) and somehow I blinked and was on the train, only to pass out again until my Dad elbowed me in Penn Station.

It had already been decided that a large Dunkin Donuts was in my future last night, so caffeine was just starting to filter into my veins around 6:30 am. Upon approaching my office, I realized that my apartment keys, which I left in Hoboken, a delightful fact brought to my attention by my roommates, also houses my office key. FAIL. I waited 40 minutes in the hallway, my bags sitting around me, with my back against the wall to wait for the guy with a key. I was afraid to fall asleep in fear that someone would think that I had been squatting in the hallway all weekend.

FINALLY, finally, I was let in. Pandora blasting, lights off except for the glow of my computer, I’m celebrating Monday morning with a new blog post, fueled by my large DD, which I am just starting to feel the effects of.

The sun came up slowly this morning, but, if anything, I love an AM where I can wake up peacefully, slowly, and productively at my desk.

Here’s one to get the party started:

Still Working It Out

You must forgive me for what I am about to quote, but as a single, 25 year-old, independent female, it would be a bold-faced lie to say that I never reference Sex and the City. In one particular episode, as Carrie Bradshaw is whining about being lonely, (I still love you Carrie) she says that in New York, as a woman, you can have a great job, a great apartment and a great man, but never all at the same time. Apparently, it’s always two out of three, and even if the two you’ve got are top-notch, the missing third will still make you want to hyperventilate in a Duane Reade bag.

Though she has a valid point, having just celebrated my second year as a Hoboken resident, I would have to disagree. In this day in age, at least in the 07030 zip code, there is a very much a fourth:  the gym in which you work out.

After having been jilted by the now defunct Empire Fitness on 6th St. and Washington a year ago after they closed abruptly, allegedly for some shady business with the IRS, I was soured on gym practices. Left without a house of exercise, in the winter and spring of 2009, I did some “sole” searching in jogs and walks around town, a few downloadable yoga classes off websites and iTunes, and routine plays of my Jackie Warner (of Bravo TV’s “Work Out” reality show fame) sculpting DVD.

It wasn’t until my friend Rachael and I were discussing where the summer went and she said, “Jeez, between work, travel, and getting into spin [class], I feel like the weeks have just sped by,” that I suddenly felt the need to come clean with a fact that I am really quite an anomaly in Hoboken, because I do not have a gym membership card on my keyring.

It’s really no wonder why I feel the pressure—we are a town obsessed with fitness. No matter what time of the day, you will see a Hobokenite in cross-trainers and exercise gear. Get off the PATH after 5 PM, and there’s a steady stream to the NYSC downtown. Want to find a yoga studio? Just hop on the trail of the dozens of yogis running around town with their mats strapped to their back. Between my roommates who go to Sky Club and Club H, there are a million “free passes” on our fridge, taunting me to try classes like Zumba and RPM.

Carrie Bradshaw had an easy out. She said shopping was her cardio (and you are really going to have to forgive me for being able to quote that.) As for me, only time will tell if I can continue with my quest for fitness outside the box, or if I will succumb to peer pressure. But, the way I see it, as long as I can find ways to stress about my job, apartment, or love life, I won’t have to stress about the way I workout, and I can once again be a happy-go-lucky resident of Hoboken.