Note to self: purchase sports bra

I have such sore wabs this morning that although I’m at my desk I actually just want to sit and cradle them whilst whispering soothing thoughts in an attempt to remind them that I do care and convince them that I’m not just a sadomasochist headcase who went to the gym and cained it without wearing a sports bra.

But unfortunately I am just a sadomasochist headcase who went to the gym and cained it without wearing a sports bra and I think my boss might wonder why I was talking to myself.

I woke up this morning with a fire in my belly for hitting the gym that can only be attributed to one thing – the dust bunnies in my room had finally infiltrated my brain and eaten away enough neurons to make getting up at half past arse this morning seem like a good idea. I could tell that it was going to be a session where I ended up weeping at the thought of having to walk across the road to work when I took the time to properly lace and tie my trainers rather than stuffing the lace ends into my shoes and hoping they stay on. Clutching my proper gym bunny water bottle that looks like a baby teething ring but sadly minus my high performance fabric sweat towel that was eluding me somewhere (probably under my bed) I entered the gym and proceeded to hit the machines as if I was several stones lighter and about a gajillion times fitter than I actually am.

And, aside from the dull ache in my jumper bumps I’m feeling pretty fantastic – tomorrow? Not so much! I’ll ache like a motherfunker mañana but for today I feel alive and full of vitality, and yes I have a glossy coat and cold wet nose… Oh, wait.

It may take a while to get over the mental scars of seeing a manager from work stark bollock naked at ten to eight this morning however.


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