A Blooming Miracle

It's the start of my 8-day break (shorter work week and all that) and I do something I haven't done in nearly a year.

I EXERCISED. Yes, I actually stepped into a gym, paid good money to do untold torture to my body.

I think a demon must have possessed me. Or maybe I'm just a teeny bit worried about the alcohol gut that is developing.

Damn you alcoholic colleagues!

Started relatively light, cos you know, don't want the heart that is clogged with fatty tissues to give out halfway. Scooped the gym and saw no cute guys, so there really was no incentive for an mouth-to-mouth resuscitation to go on.

20 minutes treadmill, 20 minutes weights training, 20 minutes spinning.

At the end of the hour, my body was shutting down and not responding to commands. Actually, by the first 20 minutes, I thought I was seeing stars already.

Sigh. I really do hate running. It's boring, it's tiring, it's painful, it's not therapeutic.

Why oh why did I subject myself to such torture?

Oh yeah, this is why.

I guess this would explain the need to work out. And it's only half of what was consumed on my birthday.

Sigh.