07 May 2010
Posted by Ken
Yeah, I work out. Thanks for noticing.
And I realized something about working out last weekend, as I sloshed my way through another set of Romanian Deadlifts: I don't do this shit for my heart. The damn thing's been beating just fine on its own without my help, and despite the occasional Triple Whopper and Vodka belt, so who am I to interfere? Nor do I give a flying handshake about my circulation, pulse rate, or "core."
I bust my ass in the gym so I get that extra look from Shirley in Accouting. So that future Kenettes will say, "nice," when they run their hands along my chest. So that the college chicks in the apartment next door will stick their heads out the window to watch me watering my lawn sans shirt [as will the mailman, who will sulk away, knowing he's but half the man].
Simply put: I workout so that I look better for the ladies. And if the girl across the gym from me, who's been pounding away at the "Butt Blaster" for over fifteen minutes, is here out of concern for the aging process and not thinking about how her aerobicized ass is going to turn every third guy at the Rattlesnake Bar into drooling fiends, then I'll eat my towel.
Labels: My Dumb Life ·