Huff…puff…water!…need…water!…run…jog…dying…sprint…huff…puff…sweat…may vomit…

Look down at fitness machine on which running, see that it reads:

“Discontinue use of machine if dizzy, faint or exhausted.”

* * *

The gym.  The perfect setting to meet potential mates.  I mean, the place exudes physicality and sex and…

…entire shirts dripping with sweat (how is that possible?) and fatty bouncing body parts and caveman-like grunts and some sour smell that appears to be the results of everyone’s collective effort.

Ew.

Anyway, maybe I’ll just get fit. 

* * *

Mental note: Avoid the gym on the first Saturday after New Year’s.  Do you REALLY need to hog the whole mat for your yoga poses? 

* * *

No, not me, I’m not listening to Air Supply on my iPod.

* * *

Overheard while hoisting eight-pounders over my head: “Dude, what are you pressing, 250?”

* * *

How is it that yesterday, when I had the same exact body but lounged around dipping chips into sour cream, my body was repugnant and jiggly, when today, while I’m lifting and running and stretching it all over the place, it suddenly looks fit and buff?  I like how that works.  Feel good, look good.  Maybe I’ll try this again sometime.