Turns out, my fears were unfounded.
I went to swim Friday after work and I checked at the reception desk for my ID. It was there.
My towel was not.
Eh. A towel is a small price to pay to know some crazy swimmer is probably not stalking me.
(OH! Guess what else I learned? There's a hot tub at the Y. Who knew? No one gave me a tour when I joined, so I didn't know. I might have to drive into town one crisp, cold morning, start my run from the Y and then end it in the hot tub. That sounds nice, right?)
2 comments:
Its a short jog to the trails from the Y too! I prefer the steam room over the hot tub!
There's something about a steam room that freaks me out. I fear getting stuck in there, gasping for air. I have the same feelings about a walk-in freezer. I think I have seen too many early '70s sitcoms where people get hilariously locked in. I know, however, that Fonzie or Carmine or Fish or Vinnie Babarino aren't going to show up and let me out. However, with this recommendation, I just might have to try it. (P.S. There is also a water extractor for your swimming suit in the ladies locker room. I will take a photo of it someday to show you. It cracks me up and I'm not sure why.)
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