Last Christmas, I gave myself a present: I quit working out. Yes, I abandoned my quest for the perfect ass.
My friends who have known me since Middle School when I climbed on the fitness bandwagon thought about staging an intervention. Thankfully, they let me be.
The whole thing was sort of weird. One day, I got up, put on my workout clothes and just like every other day, I headed to the gym for my marathon session with the Staimaster followed by an hour of throwing some iron around.
I parked the car, turned off the ignition….and sat there, staring at the gym with all its brightly painted pictures of women working out, smiles on their faces, Spandex barely covering their perfect tushes, and…