Earn Your Story: The Outdoor 9-5er


Monday: buzz-buzz-buzz your alarm goes off at 6:45 a.m. Left hand migrates from under the comforter and slaps snooze, once, twice. “Just accept it and make the coffee,” your girlfriend mumbles.

                The subway ride into work is packed with other gray-suit 9-5ers. A queue of 15 co-workers curves around the office entry. “Badge please,” the guard says without eye contact. From the side pocket of your slacks, you take out a green-, USA-manufactured Trayvax, unclip the top metal closure and card shimmy for the badge. “Thanks,” the guard says, as you pass, with eye contact.

                Office life, for you, is a soul-crushing dance of incremented time: bathroom breaks, lunch at somewhere overpriced (with associates who discuss mandatory memo template styles), trolling beige hallways for anyone to talk to that isn’t named Steve, and that grumpy secretary at 3 p.m. ringing the other grumpy secretary to say, “…then I told him, why use the 8th floor printer when you work on the 9th?”. Tap-tap-tap goes your bosses pencil at 4 p.m., as he gives an over-caffeinated lecture about travel receipts.

                Finally, it’s quitting time.

               Your workout bag is next to the cans of expired V8 Juice you promise will be breakfast one day. The distance between you, and the outdoor bike trail towards that navy-blue gushing river, is only minutes away now. This is the moment in your day when the K2-summiting person you fantasize about being, meets the earth-money person you are, and both agree to be at peace.

                Unzip the workout bag, but instead of North Face dry-fit shorts you swore you packed last night, in place are your girlfriend’s red polka dotted compression capris. This can’t be possible, you think. Now, the decision to subway home, and forfeit your ride, or tackle your girlfriend’s spandex until you fit. Because you’ve never been the average 9-5er, you’re an ever evolving prototype of the 9-5er with a crucial outdoor life, so you untie your dress shoes; suck in the pounds.

                Polluted city air passes as you peddle towards your favorite trail near the water.  And to be honest, your legs have never looked so good in that shade of red.      

 


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