Today, I joined the ranks of the people I scoff at, the people whose sanity I question.
I laced up my fancy new running shoes... slammed half a Lara bar (carb-loading, yo)... and saddled up to a bike at the irreverent hour of five a.m.
"Who's ready to burn calories?"
I didn't raise either hand.
(Wiping away sleep boogs with the right one. Slapping my face to ensure consciousness with the left one).
Fast forward sixty sweat-drenched minutes... sipping on a hazelnut coffee before the sun decided to show its face, a ridiculous workout behind me... I have to admit, it felt good.
You know what didn't?
Putting on pants.
I'm an irresponsible sun bather. I'm the first to admit it. (Universal stank eye from the dermatologists). I know, I know. Worshipping in the rays with no regard to SPF for an entire afternoon doesn't get you lightly toasted. It gets you bitch slapped.
And now I'm wondering how me and my lobster-red gams are going to get ready for work. Because a hot shower and a scalding sunburn.... well, this certainly won't be pleasant.