While stretching at the gym after an average workout, I noticed a woman in a blazer messing with something in a box over by the spinning bikes.  I had seen her check in, so she was a member, but she was not dressed for her own average workout.  Five minutes later, I walked by her area on my way to the locker room to find her in her work slacks and shell, whipping some white thing around unenthusiastically.

It was a shake weight.

She had brought it with her. In the box.

She wasn’t even doing it right.

All of a sudden, my average workout felt rather badass.

Advertisements