I'm a simple man. I work out six hours a day. After work, you also sit in front of another screen. Craft has these. I write, I read, I see sitting. Sleep in bed, like everyone else. The only thing considered physical activity is my mode of transportation: two unremitting legs. In short I walked everywhere.
I have been buzzing in my ears for three years to get into the gym to get toned, but I just realized I didn't have it in the near future. The fault is all with Soni Malaj.
I was slipping into my millennium today on Instagram when these blessed videos came before me. I saw them six times. I would see them seven times when I felt a pain in the back. Then in the belly, in the arms and pulses. I felt like I was activating every muscle that was supposed to activate the video exercises. Did you say it was me instead of Son, when in fact, it had been some time since the last time I got up from the chair.
Below in Son's profile I saw other videos like this. I denied with my head. Impossible. Who has this kind of strength? That kind of will? Not me.
Sonny, who is twice my age - hello twenty-one more years old you lazy - has been taking care of his body all his life and this explains the unseen muscles and back. Maybe the fact that it is Scales makes it more of a given than I am after the way it looks.
Why did it take away my desire to go to the gym? Because it made me realize that I will never be the type of person who exercises. I have never been. If I can't betray my memory, I don't remember a 9-year-old gymnasium or gymnasium that I obeyed without a word. One day my stomach hurt, one day my head, one day I had forgotten my clothes at home. When the red traffic light catches me in the middle of the white lines, I don't run, I just speed up. When I'm late for somewhere ... Well, I'm never late for that very reason; I don't know how to rush. For me, the embodiment of a spoiled house cat, to become like Sonny, I need to put the planets in a perfect line and somehow change my DNA composition. I'm sorry for myself, but not done.
As a realist, I am accepting the truth as it is: nude and unauthorized. At 38 I will look like my mom and not like Son.
