I'm not too proud to admit that the whole transition from sloth to straight-to-the-gym-after-work junkie would have not been so smooth if it wasn't for a certain trainer/eye candy. Even though in the last six weeks I haven't managed to utter more than 2 words to him (I know hard to believe from the girl that usually can't shut up), he has served a definite purpose. Having some man-candy around when you're getting sweaty never hurts! A constant reminder of some other sweaty "not appropriate for children under the age of ::insert your preference here::" activities only motivates me/you to work out harder..a little more umph now, a little less jiggling later ;)
Of course my sources now tell me that "the trainer" ::gasp::..
**PAUSE FOR DRAMATIC EFFECT**
only just turned 20..which in my book means he might as well be 12.
It's like the signs always say - No Shirt, No Shoes, Not of Legal Drinking Age..NO SERVICE!
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