I still try to work out when I travel. It’s a reliable routine, and forces a little structure even on to my time off- a “whatever else goes on, I need to do this” task. In the case of my trip home, that means it joins a lot of food-centric tasks:
- Hit up a Wawa
- Hit up Dinos- get a Dino’s Special Italian, send pictures back west for instructional material to those who would put mayonnaise on such a sandwich.
- Smuggle Yeungling beer and Tastykake pie back in a suitcase.
Priorities are important, all.
I’m staying near my old hometown, and the easiest gym to get into is the Jewish Community Center that my parents are still members of. It’s where I went to summer day camp as a kid, and where we went to enjoy the pool in summer. My dad handed me his access card and said, “When you get in there, report back and tell me where everything is. I haven’t been in there in a bit, and they’ve moved stuff around.”
“All things change and we change with them,” but that change is not always radical. It can be slow, in bits and pieces. When it’s a place that you remember being the whole world to you when you were young, what’s changed and what’s remained don’t always mesh in your brain.
The Black Hat Baker 