I joined Kosama Downtown (check out their program here) a few weeks ago, and with my busy schedule, I “wisely” set the time for my workouts for 5 AM. Needless to say, 5 am comes pretty early these days, so forgetfulness is usually forgiven. For those that have done these kinds of wacko workout schedules, you know that forgetting something is a common occurrence. Sure, some times it’s shampoo or a razor – that you can most likely get on with your day and recover from. But today, I had the unique pleasure of FORGETTING MY PANTS!
I packed them in my bag. I remember it. But after the workout was done. The shower was complete. My teeth were brushed – sure, I remembered that. I reached into the bag for my pants and … nothing – a sweaty wrist wrap, a baggie of baby carrots, and some duffel goo, but no pants.
A wave of panic rushed over me as I dug through every pocket of my bag. No. No. Nope, not there, either… WHAT THE HELL? I REMEMBER PACKING THEM! Soon, other guys in the locker room were noticing my stress / panic.
“I think I forgot my pants.” I said to no one – just trying to explain why I was rustling around in my bag of sweaty clothes like a freak. “I swear I packed ’em.” And I laughed a feeble laugh. “heh..uhhe…” keeping my eyes on the search.
Quickly, my mind raced back to 8th grade swim practice where at this moment, the Seniors would pick me up and throw me into the hall wearing nothing but my shiny braces – quickly locking the door behind me. So, calmly and as graciously as possible, I’d cover my genitals and wave a single salute at Jenny Tripp and her squealing gaggle of girlfriends.
Ah, but this is 30 years later and I was in no threat of utter embarrassment. And anyway, who would want to throw a sweaty 43-year old out into a hallway wearing nothing but blue dress socks and a tee-shirt?!?
“I’ll laugh my ASS off if you have to walk to your car like that!” a voice echoed from behind me.
Aw shit, I thought. Not now. Not here.
Then, from 4 lockers down a gentleman held out a pair of sweat pants. “You can wear these if you want.” he held them up, “They’re clean.” and took a sniff as if to assure me they didn’t stink.
“Thanks.” I laughed. ” I think I’ll be okay from here to my car in my own sweatpants.” although the idea of putting my post-workout rags back on was horrifying. Out of disciplined honor to “the Dude’s Code,” I just couldn’t borrow another man’s pants – clean or not.
SO, the embarrassing chaos ended as the other men cleared the locker room and I got half dressed. I put away my toothbrush and razor. I put away my hair brush and face towel. I zipped them all safely away for the day’s journey to the back of my Jeep. I put on my shirt and took my sweater off the hanger and …
Oh, my pants.
Keep Cooking & Happy Thanksgiving… Whatever state of dress you may be in. 🙂
Andrew B. Clark
The Brand Chef