I’m inherently lazy, so I hate working out. Given my druthers, I’d spend my days eating ice cream bonbons and watching episodes of “The Real Housewives.”
It’s odd then, that the thing I miss most about the time before coronavirus and stay-at-home orders is going to the gym. For 40 years, the gym has been the thread that tied my physical being to my precarious sanity. Murder trials, surgery and personal tragedies have never kept me from the gym for more than two weeks.