Buff daddy

There are a number of reasons why the convenience of city parenting is so irresistible. Like how just about everything we need — our doctor, pediatrician, bank, drug store, grocery store, health food store, hardware store, diner, library, and dry cleaner, as well as several good restaurants, six movie theaters, five playgrounds, and a major subway nexus — is within a five-block walk of the apartment.

Now I can add gym to that list, because I just joined one — a no-frills effort that’s a little too grubby (i.e., full of monstrous weightlifters with massive, tattooed limbs) to be considered a health club — just three blocks away. It’s also open 24/7, and this is crucial, because catering to Robert’s mercurial lifestyle is becoming more challenging by the day. Now I can steal away for a 45-minute run and be back home within the hour whenever an opportunity arises.

I haven’t worked out since the layoff, and I’ve spent far too much time relying on artificial stimulants to keep up with Kid Charisma. It’s time that some natural endorphins came into play. Besides, when traffic gets clogged in front of my building and the chorus of honking morons rattles my brain pan, I’ll need a place to go vent some steam.