By Caron Schwartz
My sweetheart, Lenny, and I are not what you’d call a fun-lovin’ bunch. We enjoy city council meetings. Occasionally a play or movie. We are avid readers. Both of us love a good cup of coffee. But our idea of a really good time is working out.
I recently discovered the best of both worlds under one roof. I was heading to downtown St. Pete and wanted to pump some iron. I asked Dr. Google for a recommendation. Ten minutes later I arrived at Journey into Fitness, a boutique gym collocated with Undergrounds Coffee & Juice on Central Ave. I chatted with Tom Pugh, owner of both establishments, about graceful aging – keeping active, designer coffee breaks – and joined his club. He even honors Silver Sneakers – the best thing about reaching “a certain age” since Kohl’s senior discount Wednesdays.
How amazingly quiet it was! I like to work out to the tune of true-crime podcasts but still get to “enjoy” what the kids are listening to. Tom assured me that during high-intensity classes there were booming beats galore. After treadmilling, TRX squats, and a soupçon of bicep curls, I popped into Undergrounds. Fortified by a strong cortado, I was on my way.
This find was a must-share. We arrived in the afternoon, where personal trainer Tagrid Mitchell led Lenny through the membership process. Then we got to work, each in our private, podcast-powered space, encouraging each other along the way.
“Now for that delicious cup of coffee,” I said as we met up in our street clothes, only to discover that Undergrounds had closed at 5pm. But across the street, Dirty Laundry’s lights shone. Lenny and I smiled at each other. Back when our romance was budding, I was learning to play my dad’s banjolele (looks and sounds like banjo, strums like a ukulele). So, we went to the Ukulele Festival in downtown St. Pete. When hunger struck, we walked down the street in search of refreshments. Dirty Laundry looked interesting – like a laundromat with a lunch counter. Little did we know, as we chowed on yucca fries and Cuban coffee, that behind one of those whirling “dryers” was a Havana-style speakeasy. “Ah, yes, I remember it well,” whispered Lenny, taking my hand as we crossed the street.