I went on a tour of a new gym last night.
My tactic is to force acknowledgement that I am the lowest common denominator.
Scratch that, I am below the lowest common denominator.
My idea of a workout is taking my dogs for a walk around the neighborhood.
There are sloths who are fitter than me.
I walked through the room of sweating, panting people in varying shades of pastel lycra and looked at the array of equipment as I imagine one of Torquemada’s many victims stared in horror at the rack.
I haven’t signed up yet. I still have to endure an assessment. Sounds more like a trial by humiliation, but I’ll get there.