The Daily Idiocy

I have been carrying the same black duffel bag to the gym since 1994. 'Course, there have been periods when I didn't GO to the gym, but when I have, the bag has gone, too. That bag has stories to tell; sadly, most of them are about smelly socks and graying workout bras.

About a month ago, the zipper finally threw in the towel (which actually was kind of considerate; otherwise, I would have been forced to air dry after my shower) and detached from its moorings. At first, there was just a three-inch section with no zipper, but soon enough, the whole bag was permanently exposed to the elements.

That meant that my gym stuff was exposed, too. My gym ritual grew to include an elaborate re-stuffing so that anything untoward was forced to the bottom with more neutral items arranged across the top, like a checkered cloth over the basket of goodies for Grandma. Not that she'd want those goodies.

Now, any reasonable person (a population amongst which I sadly do not traffic) would have bought a new bag, or at the very least, rummaged in the cupboards for one of those "Hey! I forgot I had that!" items. Not me. No, ma'am. I am just not materialistic like that. I stuck with Old Faithful.

A few annoying things started to happen. One day I was showering at the gym when I realized I had no shampoo. I had to use the industrial soap in the big metal dispenser. I later found the shampoo in the crawl space under my car seat. A few days later, my socks were mysteriously missing, and I had cold ankles all day. Those have never been seen again. A tiny glimmer of realization began to penetrate the murk in my mind: it was time to get a new bag.

Yesterday we went to Target, and I perused the duffel options in the Luggage section. They were all pricier than I'd foreseen, including an Eddie Bauer number with multiple bells and whistles for nearly 40 dollars. Yowza! Then I spotted a series of nylon envelopes in several colors. Reading the fine print, I discovered they contained duffels, with their own carrying case. The colors were pleasing--I chose midnight blue (preferring the sky blue, but imagining it dirty.) The price? $10.99, thank you very much.

This morning, I cut off the tags and began to fill the bag with my gym stuff, which took on a fresh patina in the shiny new surroundings. The bag is roomy, and stylish, with a padded shoulder piece for those long treks to and from the car, laden with ablutions. I was lovin' it, and loving myself for picking it out.

Then I changed into my workout clothes, put my hair in a pony tail, brushed my teeth, and headed to the door. There was only one little problem.

I could only find one shoe.

No biggie, I thought, it's bound to have rolled under the seat in the car. Or maybe Jarrah stuffed it into one of her squirrel caches. I'll just have a quick look-see and be on my way.

Nope.

Desperate now, I searched everything. I considered who I might call, but couldn't remember where I'd been recently. "Hello? Do you happen to have one blue New Balance in your lost and found?"

There went the workout. Or a walk. I checked my closet for older models--nada. Admitting defeat, I showered and dressed, and headed back out to the car.

To go buy new running shoes. Which were not cheap, even though I got them at DSW. Even as I rationalized that I really needed new ones (it had been a couple of years) I mentally kicked myself for my negligence.

On the plus side, I have spanking new Nikes, which feel like angel's pillows caressing my feet.