I’m hurting so bad. I went to the gym this morning (week 2) and nearly killed myself. The fan above the area I was slaving in was the only one not going in the whole place. And it would have to be one of the hottest days we’ve had this summer. There’s a woman at the gym who is trying to murder me. What’s more, I’m paying her to do it. There’s something wrong with this picture.
The trouble is, there isn’t enough room on the floor of my tiny home for a gnome to do a sit-up, and I’m definitely not going to go outside and torture my body in the blazing hot sun, so I don’t really have much choice in the matter. At least at the gym there are other people who resemble sweaty, puffing podge-pots, so I’m in good company there. Except for the instructors who look trim, fit, and never break out in a bead of decent, honest sweat. I hate them. Continue reading