Everyday I try to hit the subway gym. You might be familiar with it. Its not a real gym that requires a monthly membership and is hidden through some secret door deep within a specific subway stop, but a make-believe gym that exists in the minds of some ingenious commuters. Ingenious-lazy commuters. Ingenious-lazy commuters, like me. You see, I don't work out. No treadmills. No elliptical machines. No public heavy breathing, schvitzing, and jiggling up and down. That's just not my bag. But since I love a butter croissant as much as the next gal, I do walk up the stairs instead of taking the escalator between levels on the subway system. I do stand the majority of the way to and from work so as to focus on toning my core (you really feel the burn enroute to College station where the train sways quite dramatically). I've calculated that its pretty much the equivalent of 100 crunches. I figure that I spend an hour and 20 minutes a day on either the subway or the streetcar (in bad weather, otherwise I power walk) so I might as well come up with some moves to pump up the jam. I've taken to walking to the end of the platform regardless of whether the platform is full or not (Its solely to increase the count on my pedometer). I've got exceptionally svelte wrists now thanks to having to balance my coffee from spilling for 80 minutes each and every day. My thighs are marble sculptures since I've been holding my purse between my knees (the floor is just too risky). But, by far, the most complete exercise one can do is hold it in on a packed street car. Think of it! People are squishing by you and attempting to pass by you in such insanely small spaces that in order to maintian any sense of dignity and not be sandwiched into a complete stranger, you are forced into a Lotus-like position. Yes, indeed, if I keep this up I'll look like Kathy Ireland in no time.
No comments:
Post a Comment