̶S̶o̶m̶e̶t̶i̶m̶e̶s̶,̶ Usually, the excitement exceeds the physical limitations of reality: back-to-back activities are fervently arranged, executed, then savoured in the work week following. The method maximizes productivity, but also results in a slippery slope to burnout. Again and again, I had repeated the process until I could endure the fatigue no more. Past experiences have taught me to salvage one full day to rest, an unspoken guideline I strive to hold myself accountable to obey.
On this day, the class comprised of two other beginners, both clad in matching lululemon sets, false nails, and adopting the appearance of low-commitment gym-goers. Overheard was their high-level acquaintance with pilates; observed was a distinctly disparate acclimatization with yoga. Instead of our classic Bosu warm-up series, the Cardio Tramp was obtained and several thigh-warming exercises were conducted. And, as per my expectations, the burning sensation was only furthered in latter parts of the class.
We revisited the second-most intense inner thigh series (with the first being a standing rendition with feet in "turnout position"). With parallel feet placed at hip-distance apart, one foot was planted on the platform extender and the other on the Carriage. Adopting an imprint pelvis in standing position, we were to push the Carriage away from the footbar (platform extender side) and retract it strictly by isolating the inner thighs. A true testament for thigh mobility, I experienced quivers afterwards, followed by tenderness for the next two to three days.
While Lunar New Year has since passed, I was relieved to find the full collection in stock and with all sizes available! Several other items were acquired during the trip, including a periwinkle AIRism top that may or may not be returned due to my aversion for pastel hues.
But fate worked in our favour. As I began to experience rumbles in my tummy, a couple was spotted gathering their belongings and clearing the table. I quickly hovered beside it, then nabbed the four-seater before scurrying off to the single stall bathroom.
Revisiting their macaron selection, a $3.50 Matcha Oreo was selected. Quite a travesty to divide three ways, visuals were comprised during the process. Despite the shattered shell and smeared interior, our opinions of the specimen remained unchanged: the filling was buttery smooth and luscious, while the Oreo atop supplied a dark, cacao-y crunch. "The shell is a bit gummy." admitted the one across the table. And it was, truthfully, but still airier than a profile I could manage anyway.
Cheesecake quarters adopting the golden finish of a half-baked, half-steamed Japanese Cheesecake came into view. Even beyond the display case, they appeared flat and dense. Equipped with the ability to construct my own variations, I would have steered clear. Nonetheless, I was open to suggestions of my dining partners and agreed to attempt. My suspicions were proven upon closer inspection of the cross-section: a rigid slab brimming with moisture and a near-absence of air pockets. A forkful of the slice confirmed the questionable consistency of a sturdy pudding; sampling resulted in disgust from a repulsive roux base and utter lack of cheesiness. My one-third section was shoved to the side without remorse while I proceeded to ingest the others.
Making haste, I re-assembled my belongings for yet another outing - this time as a passenger.
Opinions were consolidated and recommendations were extended. I learned of:
- Aversion towards cream sauce-based pizzas, otherwise known as "pizza bianca";
- Unfamiliarity with rosé sauce; and
- Acceptance of all variations in pasta format.
Also drawing commentary was the contrast of coarse chunks of smoked duck with the rich silkiness of Parmesan-topped pasta, to which I, again, silently concurred.