Exercising is for MASOCHISTS

I am not one for weights. 

In fact, I’m that girl that only goes to the gym to run roughly 3-4 miles on the treadmill or elliptical before walking back out to my car in glorified, red-faced pride (my skin is pale and I get red-faced with even the minimal amount of physical exertion, don’t laugh at me).

But, during the Easter Weekend, the gym was a veritable ghost town, which meant that I could make a complete fool of myself on the weight-training machines without worrying about the uber-fit people around me to critique my every flaw in their minds.

So, I worked on my arms and core with various machines in four reps of ten . . . which seemed pretty good for a noob like me.

I didn’t even hurt.

BUT NOW I DO.

I GOD, DO I FEEL THE PAIN.

FUCK YOU MUSCLES WHAT DID I EVER DO TO YOU I AM SO SORRY PLEASE STOP MAKING ME CRY

 

Happy Easter (or Happy Zombie Jesus Day)

Lent is over, and if Easter means anything, it means being passably girly for an entire day (and for someone who is too lazy to put in her contacts in the morning, this is a big deal).

Let it be known that I am a pretty pathetic Catholic.

If we ignore my vaguely unattractive legs, bask in the awesomeness of my striped dress (Target) and sheer stockings. I also wore a black cardigan (because walking in public just like this is closer to nudity than I can personally handle).

 

And, the God Awful heels I wore with them.

Back to flats, baggy clothes, and glasses tomorrow 😀