Thursday, August 19, 2010

Buffity Pastrami

There is nothing like a good round of exercise to blast stupid things like bad interviews from your brain. I scooped up Thorn and went to the gym for a few hours; it did me worlds of good. First pilates, which forces you to think about nothing other than your quivering, aching limbs for an hour. Next, the row machine to loosen up, and then weightlifting, which would be my favorite activity if I remembered my MP3 player for once. My gym has a "women's" section, but naturally I shunned it in preference for the fully-equipped, weight-loaded everyone-gym which men frequent. And I was on fire today. Added ten pounds to every machine, and still burned through it like a phoenix with a hundred lives to go. At the end, I was reborn: a sweaty, pulsating mass who didn't give a rat's arse about pencil-pushing, paychecks, or pastrami.

Well, maybe pastrami.

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