Pushups

I’ve taken to doing pushups in the morning. But not real pushups - you know, the kind where your back is straight, your hands are on the floor, and you’re instantly feeling week because 10 pushups in your arms are burning and you’re a little bit dizzy because the blood’s all rushed to your head, so instead of doing full pushups you just bend your head down a little bit and count those as 2. No, I’m not doing real pushups. I’m doing pushups against the counter in my bathroom. Pushups at a 45 degree angle that are moderately harder than pushing a bowling ball up your sister’s driveway in summer time. The kind that you keep quiet from your roommate, because what kind of pansy does push ups against a bathroom counter? So, you turn on your bathroom fan and pump up your iphone speaker hoping that it’ll drown out the sounds of the wood creaking under 57% of your body weight. The same 57% of your body weight that’s making your arms burn and your head rush because this is the most physical exertion you’ve had in months, not counting when you lost that Flamin Hot Cheeto underneath the couch during NCIS. But you can’t let anyone know that, because you’re not a pansy and you’re totally in shape and you’re the man because you can do 25 jumping jacks in a row without losing your breath. You might need a nap after, but damn if you can jump those jacks.

And let me tell you - 2 more days of this, and I’ll be ripped.