Magnus Samuelsson ain't got nothin' on me

I joined a gym today. I had previously been a member of particular lady gym that shall remain nameless (but not lame-less). I was kind of unhappy there and the ladies who worked there were bitches. I already had kind of crappy self-esteem so I don't really need Nazi work-out ladies riding my ass while I was trying to tone that exact same ass.

So after putting in a year at the lady gym, one of my friends suggested I join the gym he was going to. I'm all for breaking a sweat with friends (nothing strengthens the bond between friends like sweating profusely and grunting excessively*) so I agreed.

I'd been a member of this gym before when I was younger so I wasn't too nervous about going back. When I was a member of LA Fitness, I had to give myself a half hour pep talk and drink three Red Bulls before I could even step foot inside. And even then I could only spend twenty minutes on a machine before the voice in my head that said "HOLYSHITEVERYONEISLOOKINGATMECAUSEI'MSWEATINGTOOMUCH" took over and I became two breaths away from being the gym's resident crazy lady. It was a bad scene.

But this gym is more laid back. Nobody cares what you're doing and I like that. I feel good about this change. I've lost a good amount on my own just kind of half-assing it, so now that I'm thinking about maybe possibly putting in a solid effort maybe the rest of what I want to lose will come off easier and/or quicker. Plus I get really hyped up on the endorphins and by the time I leave there I'm relatively positive I could bench press a Volkswagon Beetle if I needed to. In fact, today when I left, I gave a fellow gym goer a high five and accidentally launched him across the parking lot.** Guess I don't know my own strength, which can happen when you look like this:


This is me. Actual size too. Jealous?


* That's what she said.
** This may or may not have happened.