To discuss how relationships are like bicep curls, and how I'm in one now

There’s an exciting announcement at the end of this post.*

I started going to the gym again. Now that it’s getting colder (although you know I love autumn like Jessica Simpson’s dad loves her bra size), I can’t keep getting all my exercise through outdoor sports like volleyball. That whole asthma thing sucks (insert inhaler joke here).
I could probably not work out at all and still stay relatively svelte, since God, in His infinite wisdom, decided to bless me with a good metabolism to make up for Him smiting me in other areas, such as personality and intelligence. God’s a good smiter.
But being relatively in shape and being in shape and muscular are two separate things. As I’ve read and agreed with on some of your blogs, just because you’re a thin person doesn’t mean you don’t need to work out (I recall one person writing that some large woman glared and scolded them for working out because they were already thin, as if that means you are in great shape).

So I’ve gone to the gym a few times recently, although not the big megaplexes— yet. There’s one at my apartment complex that barely costs anything to use, so I’ll stick with that one until I get enough muscle to go to the big person gym and lift weights that wouldn’t be ridiculed by an Olsen twin.**
I will say that the entire concept of going to the gym when you’re in your 20s or 30s is a bit ridiculous. This is my theory, at least as far as guys are concerned:
Single guys usually go to the gym to get all those abs and biceps so they can impress single girls. Then, once they get the girl, they have to keep going to the gym to stay fit because they’ve now raised the bar on their appearance. Then, when they break up, the guy goes back to the gym to work out his anger and get in better shape so he can find a new girl. And the cycle continues. Relationships are an endless bicep curl.

I’m sure I’ll write more about the gym at some point— so many things to make fun of— but I do want to include this thought. I just love it when the huge, HGH dudes lifting the equivalent of my body weight on a triceps curl feel the need to slam down weights and scream after each set. As Leo DiCaprio might shout, it’s them saying “I’m the king of the curl!” Except Leo has a neck.
Sometimes I grunt and shout when I’m doing my sets beside them so I can keep up. It invariably sounds like I’m mating with a dog and does not appear manly. At least I'm using the big boy weights and not those colored ones that come in bright blues and pinks.

* I just knew you’d jump to the end. You were probably one of those kids who, when reading the Choose Your Own Adventure books, cheated and read both of the possibilities before selecting an option. Anyway, just thought you should know that Madame Capricorn is the official girlfriend now. Coincidentally, my brother also got a girlfriend last night, which is a very strange and cool coincidence. Fortunately, they are different girls, or that would be awkward.
** OK, really, I actually do have some muscle. So maybe it’s what both Olsen twins can lift combined, which is, say, a can of Red Bull and a dime bag.***
*** If you don’t have enough money, is there a nickel bag? Do they make a food stamp bag?