As I settle into my new digs, I have come to look forward to certain daily activities while dreading others. I look forward to the huge smile and good-morning from the nicest doormen on the planet (yeah, I’m talking about you, Ricky!), I’ve come to dread the sun that brightens my East facing bedroom in the wee hours of the morning, and I’ve come to treasure the alone time that comes only with living by yourself. Whether I’m taking a bubble bath, reading in bed, or writing on the terrace watching the New York City skyline and the select stars that are bright enough to challenge the city lights, being alone has been everything but lonely. But when I do find myself in need of some building companionship, I’ve discovered going down to the gym provides the perfect amount of interaction with others, betterment of myself and an excuse to eat some extra ice cream. So here it goes...

A letter to the handsome guy on the treadmill next to me:

I don’t know your name yet. All throughout my much-longer-than-intended-to-be workout I tried to build up the courage to ask your name, or the wifi password in the gym (since I was listening to the two songs I have on my phone on repeat), or even for the time, but all efforts failed. The best I could do was make awkward eye contact in the mirror. And though you didn’t say anything, the awkward eye contact and smile you gave back had me hooked. I pushed myself harder, ran faster and sweat 10x the amount I would have without you there. Somehow while I was sprinting on the treadmill trying to impress you, I managed to run for hours on end impressing myself. And while I had the music blasting in my ears and the T.V. on in front of me, you could not pay me to remember any of the songs or shows on during that time. Watching you push yourself and grow those insanely large muscles even more made me want to be fitter, be faster and be stronger like you. I kept watching the mirror, eyes going back and forth between my reflection and yours. The way you kept looking back at me made me feel like Beyonce, when in actuality I probably looked like a thirsty, panting pug.

So I guess my letter doesn’t really have a point. It’s just to say thank you for pushing me harder than I would have pushed myself. Thank you for giving me the courage and confidence to see myself as Beyoncé for a couple hours. And thank you for making my workouts one of the most looked-forward to times of my day. Oh, and next time you see me in the gym, don’t be afraid to ask if I want to race you on the treadmill, or if you can spot me with the weights, or even if I want to go for a post-workout smoothie. The answer will be yes.

Sincerely,

Your Beyoncé in the gym