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Inner Monologue On The Elliptical

Inner Monologue On The Elliptical

Ugh. The gym. Maybe I’ll switch things up today–perhaps a little treadmill action? Nah, the elliptical wins again. Fuck, fuck, fuck, where is the “quick start” button? I’ve been standing here long enough to make it clear that I don’t come here often. Shit, WHERE IS–phew. Found it.

Okay, I think I’m operating this machine properly now, so let’s pick out some music. Maybe some rap today? Big mistake. This is scary, and it’s making me feel like I should overexert myself. Nothing makes me want to run away faster than some man cursing loudly at me. I mean, is that really necessary? Who curses that much? Well, besides me during the first round of recruitment. Next: the top 40. Taylor Swift? Do people still like her? “I knew you were trouble when you walked innnnn!” Oh, my God. I just sang out loud. I wonder if people think I’m crazier than Tay? Walk it off.

Increase the incline. Not that much. Okay, I’m starting to feel skinnier already. How much time has gone by? Probably, like, 11 minutes. Just kidding–three. Three minutes have gone by. How much longer do I need to do this? I ate pretty healthily today. Minus the M&M’s after class, but that was only four handfuls, and I swear I read somewhere that they might be good for you. I think my latte was skinny. But then again, I liked it, and there’s no way I would like any food or drink that started with “skinny.” So four handfuls of M&M’s, a salad, a lot of pasta, a skinny latte–whatever. In 41 minutes and 30 seconds I’ll only be half a fat ass. Making. Progress. If I do this every single day–and I stop eating bread–I can lose 10 pounds by formal. Who am I kidding? I love bread.

Why am I sweating so much? Am I sweating more than everyone else? This is disgusting. How does that girl look so pretty when she runs? I wonder what I look like. Actually I don’t–that would be a sight I couldn’t un-see. Oh great! That guy whose bed I woke up in last week is here! Perfect. Do not wave. Do not make eye contact. For the remaining 36 minutes and 18 seconds I’m here, I’ll just pretend I don’t see him. He does have nice biceps, though. Like, really nice. Maybe I’ll text him tonight and say I “thought” I saw him at the gym today. Yeah. That’ll be good. No need to acknowledge his existence now, but later, when I’m alluding to having been at the gym, that’ll be perfect. God, I hate myself.

Ugh. I thought exercise was supposed to give me endorphins, and endorphins should make me happy. Why am I so miserable? Maybe I’m dying. I need to look this up on WebMD, STAT. I should not be exercising if I have a condition. Oh well–I gave it my all. And I’ve been here for, like, 20 minutes. If I round up. Great workout today, girl. I deserve a drink.

Image via Pop Sugar

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kittykath

Kathryn is a blonde-blue who splits her time between socializing in the library and living up to her weekend nickname. Her "Release When 21" album will go down in history but might ruin her husband's Presidential Campaign. She only wears red nail polish and would probably cry if her barista quit.

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