Stairmaster to Hell

It's been at least a week since I waxed lyrical about my exercise program on here, and I really don't know how anyone who reads my blog has coped with the gap in fascinating and informative updates from a renown fitness expert like myself.  To be honest, I really don't know how anyone can read my blog in the first place.

The topic for today was either going to be exercise or Valentine's Day, and it sure as shit ain't going to be Valentine's Day.  If you care for Valentine's Day please take your starry-eyed dirty eyes away from my innocent blog immediately.  Although, what's not to love about a day where you are deemed a total scumbag if you do not declare your affection in some socially approved, materialistic way? 

Okay, where was I? Yes, exercise.  All I really have to say about this is that the gym is now practically my friend.  We had a very rocky beginning to our relationship, if you want to call it that, and I won't be asking it to be my valentine, but we are totally tolerating each other, which I suppose is like the average marriage really, and I even missed it when I went away last weekend.

But, alas, the stupid Stair Mistress is most assuredly not my friend; one could possibly call me her bitch.  She makes me work hard and would crack a whip if she had hands and autonomic function.  But I will climb and climb the neverending stairway to hell at least once a week, because my leg muscles aren't going to look awesome all by themselves.