irony of it all

Honey, this working out this is damn near killin' me. At the gym today this white lady asked me, "how is your resting heart rate?" I said, "it's the best part of my whole damn day, honey." The gym is over-run with the ladies that wear make-up to work out and clothes that match. When I go to the gym it's like the movie Precious, if Precious were set in the YMCA. So, I did my machine and listened to my workout friend squawk about her addiction to soy latte teas or something of that nevermind. I like Diet Coke and Snickers bars, together or apart. That is my addiction, not a $5 coffee. Then I did some ridiculous rope machine. I was climbing a rope- but not really. I was sitting down and climbing a rope that rotates around this machine. The irony of it all- we run standing in place, we climb rope but we aren't goin' anywhere. Just makes you think what happens with all that mis-placed spent energy? I guess all these muscles are really just for show and not for street use. My body is like the sad, famed Pontiac Fiero- it is supposed to look all sporty and hot but underneath the clothing, it's just a golf cart.