A place called Jim

Brace yourself. I have done something that I have never done before. That I've never even dreamed of doing before. Well, maybe once while I was eating a pint of Ben & Jerrys and reading Harry Potter...

I JOINED A GYM!

Yeah, that's right. Get ready for the next generation of Girl Ferret! Abs you can clean your clothes on! Buns steely enough to name Dan! Bulging biceps as far as the eye can see! Or...maybe just elimination of the excess baggage that has crept aboard as I draw nearer and nearer to thirty.

Waaay back when I started elementary school I came home one day and Dad asked me what I had done in school. Excited as I was about all my new adventures, I launched into a detailed account of all the games we played in gym. "Jim?" Dad asked innocently. "Who's Jim?" I rolled my eyes and said, "Nooooooo Dad, GYM! You know, the CLASS!"

"Jim teaches the class?"
"No! Gym IS the class!"
"Is he cute?"
"Daaaaaaaaaad!!"

This continued for quite a while.

I'm sure Dad is looking down at me now, making up stories about Jim. So, that's what I've decided to call it. I didn't join Women's Super Fitness. I made friends with Jim.

Jim has lots of cardio equipment, weights, and clean towels. But the best part about Jim is the classes! I took my first Yoga class today, and I am so frikkin' enlightened, I think I just floated off my office chair a little. Then, foolish me, I decided to jump right into the kickboxing class. WAHOOOOOOOO!!!

As some of you know, I have dedicated a portion of my life to becoming a frikkin' ninja. I can punch. I can block. And I have a mean roundhouse kick that really caught Taylor by surprise (sorry 'bout that...ha ha! No I'm not!) But let me tell you...that class kicked my ass.

However, I have no urge for chocolate ice cream. In fact, the thought of it makes me a little queasy at the moment. I think I better drag myself to the couch and let my silly puppies lick the salt off my legs. Yummm...

I'm tired.