November 12, 2013
If you look up at the gym from West 77th, you have a clear view, through the huge window, of whomever is on the treadmill on the end, the one I run on every time I go to that branch in the early evening. As much as I cringe thinking that people would actually be watching from, say, the outdoor seating of the restaurant across the street, or an apartment above that restaurant, I like to imagine they are, because it keeps me going, as if I'm there to "perform". Treadmill as stage? Just don't break a leg, right? Hee-yuk.