Ripped

I have joined a gym. It is the best decision I have made for my mental and physical well being in a long time. It is like a glorious palace where I can sit in a mint eucalyptus steam room after a run on the treadmill or a fitness class hell bent on making my entire body feel like jelly. I have always enjoyed being physically active whether it was dance, soccer, biking or hiking; but in the coming winter months when it gets dark at 6 pm and I find myself wanting to sit on my couch and watch a movie I have a new haven to seek out. My gym.

I am planning on turning into a super buff lady with a horseshoe on her bicep (Mel and Liz always talked about this, I never could see it) and calves that you could cut glass on. Ok, ok, so don't worry I'm not going to start drinking protein shakes and steroid supplements, but I do see a rock solid tummy in my future.

Take for example this sassy lady: so I worked out this morning; some treadmill time before hitting the weights and stretching. I head to the locker room to sit in the intoxicating steam room and catch a quick shower. As I am drying my hair two women walk into my locker section. Both in their 30s to 40s and cordial. I don't take too much notice until one of them removes the towel from her vein-popping arms. W.O.W. This is a woman you would definitely not want to meet in a dark alley. It looked like she was hiding cantaloups in her biceps and metal plates in her stomach. After eavesdropping slightly, I found out that she is a triathlete of sorts and trains like a maniac. Oh yeah, and she's the mother of 3. After she rinses off and stands buck naked for a while applying lotion, she throws on some jeans belonging on a teenager and a colorful ringer tee I think I saw in the juniors department at Dillards; she threw her bag over her shoulder and sauntered out without a second glance. What a Sassafrass.