Let Me Hear Your Body Talk

My bones and muscles are aching. Can bones ache? I doubt it, but everything's creaking. Some days I get off the treadmill and my body is in a satisfied and exhausted glow; every bead of sweat, every tiny twinge of pain is a source of triumph. Not so today.

This is my third or fourth week of being a gym rat, and not only has the pain failed to diminish, it's mounting. It's incredibly frustrating to have to pause while running (or very very slowly jogging) because everything hurts too much and you feel like you're on your dying breath. It's also quite humiliating to have this happen while lithe asian men and anorexic women skip at 9 miles an hour next to you. I'm trying, people! Fuck no pain no gain.

Besides all this, the gym is quite the social scene. One of the production editors, whom Clara is busily seducing, comes to do his regular 10 mins on the elliptical and then grunts in a manly way at the weights machine. Shani has started to go too, and even one of the English professors on our editorial board is frequently to be found madly gesticulating at the stair-master. All in all, quite a gathering.