The question isn't who is going to let me; it's who is going to stop me. --Ayn Rand



I went to the gym! It has been three long months, but I grabbed my drooping ass and scampered to the company gym. See, my co-worker had a week pass, which I was planning to use at some point. This being my last week in the office, I decided it was perfect timing.

Yesterday, my first day down there, I began what came to be a measly two mile run, with a stretch break at the mile marker. As I mounted the only available machine, the man running next to me caught my eye. He was possibly the most attractive person I have seen in the building. I could see every muscle, even through his clothing. He was more defined than the beautiful men in these Dieux du Stade pictures. Naturally I'm a little self conscious after three months of no running or lifting, but part of my stretch break was devoted to watching him run.

I was able to do some stretching, a few sets of pull ups, push ups, and crunches on a exercise ball before my 1 hour limit was over. My not so attractive, pseudo gym outfit was drenched in sweat. I also found that the showers are surprisingly small, and I didn't see many people using them. Odd.

While fixing my hair in the mirror I spotted the same adonis changing into some very small white briefs with some colorful designs on them. He was, uh, large, but older than I thought. I hadn't seen all the small features running next to him without my glasses on. So there is hope for me after I turn 21, hah!

After work I attempted to buy shoes... and jeans... and a temporary gym outfit at Century city. It was a disaster. Foot Locker sucks for people who want to look cute while working out, and this is the ONLY time I've tried someone on at Banana Republic that didn't make me look amazing.

Someone hates me. My legs are sore. Tomorrow my arms will be sore.

My favorite pictures from Dieux du Stade after the jump. Warning, one nude.


Anonymous Anonymous said...

i love how you say "one nude." even though all are nude, just one penis.



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