inspired by my 9pm gym trip.

if you have been on the stairmill for as long as i’ve been on the crossramp, and your ponytail is perfect and you just have the slightest glistening sheen of sweat on your upper lip, i don’t like you. i don’t trust you.  i don’t believe you’re actually doing anything. if i didn’t KNOW that you’d just been on the stairmill, which will kill you 500 ways and then spit you back out again and laugh at you all the while, i wouldn’t believe you’d actually worked out.

you should sweat. you should be good and sweaty. you should feel, as you walk out the gym door into the muggy florida night, that people are staring at you and wondering why you are in the condition that you are. you should weigh two pounds less because of said sweat.

you should look like you did something.

yeah, i don’t trust you, ponytail girl.  i have got the Christian charity for you, and i’d probably be perfectly nice to you if we were friends, but i might still think there was something squirrely going on with your workouts.

i’m just sayin’.

in other news, and fair warning here, if i don’t stop seeing the number that i keep seeing on the scale, i am going to go a little insane.  it’s like a bad penny, that number. keeps turning up and annoying the ever-loving crap out of me.  if it were an animate object, i’d probably punch it. but it’s not. it’s me.

and i’m plateaued.


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