The step machine in the gym said I burned 364 calories in fifteen minutes today. I don't believe it. I can't, because then I will rest on the laurels of my success and eat my bodyweight in biscotti. I usually burn 500 in an hour's workout. With the change in routine today, I bumped that up to somewhere around 800.
I like early mornings. I like the light, the quiet, watching the cafe over the road stirring. I adore how the gym makes me feel, after those first ten minutes of creaking hell, when the endorphin rush starts to tickle at the back of my neck.
I love how fit I am getting. I appreciate knee injuries now that I run more frequently, the impact of the treadmill resounding in my own joints, marginally fucked from that horrible fall. I frown at my rib as it spasms. And I go back, morning after morning, and sweat until my t-shirt sticks to me.
It is addictive, better than any drug rush.