I woke up this morning at 5 a.m. and felt like someone had just punched me in the stomach. Thinking it was “just a phase” like my digestive tract was really just a rebellious teenager, I continued to dress for my workout. Whatever was in my stomach was now doing and Irish Jig, so I was faced with a decision: go back to bed or face public humiliation by throwing up on myself on a stepper machine.
And like any rational human being I went
to the gym. Bed. I went to bed. I’ve been residing there ever since.
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