I wore a stained hoodie, sequined top, leggings and odd pull up socks to the gym today.
Even for me, today was a particularly bad day.
The thing is, I’m an angry gym-goer. As soon as I swipe my card at the gym, it’s as if I undergo a Dr. Jekyll-to- Hyde-eque transformation.
Suddenly, I’m overcome with rage, rage at the stairs that I have to climb to get to the lockers, rage at the lockers that I have to use to put my gym bag, rage at the doors that I have to pull open to get to the workout room, rage at the buttons on the machines that I have to press to set my workout. But most of all, rage at the fact that I have to work out at the gym to look good. Rage is the only thing that keeps going at the gym.
Thus it’s no wonder that I come and go in an odd assortment of gym attire that appears utterly strange and obnoxious.