Yesterday was a big day: I was conducting a couple of interviews (way better than the other way around, I can tell you that much), as well as doing a lot of phoning, copywriting, proofreading, video publishing, Instagramming… you know, just another day at work. What was less typical, though, is that my first interview was set for 11am and the office was about 40 minutes away. And Thursday — in case you didn’t know — is gym day: I usually get there in the late morning, only to get out right on time to grab lunch. And by ‘grab’, I mean swallow whole Subway sandwiches (or any sandwich, really), as one does.
For those who are good at math, that morning interview meant that I had to leave home at 10:20 (at the very latest), all ready and clothed, which meant I had to be in the gym by 8:45am: work out for an hour, leave at 9:45, spend 30 minutes in the shower, 3 minutes to dry your hair, 2 to paint your nails, and off you go…
That almost went as planned: I only got in the gym by 9am sharp — absolute best I could do, I can tell you that much too: I was not entirely awake by the time I stepped on the elliptical — and proceeded to rush through all my exercices. Which was arguably facilitated by the fact that very few idiots go work out at 9am like me: the crazy ones already got done by 8:30 (but let’s not talk about them, thank you) and most normal people are headed to work by 9. But not yours truly, oh no… I’m not normal, in case you somehow failed to notice that.
I eventually got out of the gym by 9:50, having done everything I wanted to do (except running: f**k running), rushed back home, only had time for 20 minutes in the shower (very short by my usual standards) and 2 for drying my hair (again, look at Houdini over here!) and off I went into the sunset. Sunrise, I mean. I only made it 3 minutes late to the interview, which I consider to be one of my greatest professional victories.
Only my shoulder hurts. I guess it’s from all the writing.