After the teensiest bit of pouting a couple nights ago, over the comments left on my HuffPo story, I got up yesterday, dusted myself off, and headed to the gym. Where I did 1.6 miles on the Stair Master (in 12 minutes), and stuff like push-ups.
Not your average push-ups. No knees on the floor, for starters. And my hands were on a BOSU ball, which is an unstable surface. Oh, and after each push-up, I went up into a T-stand.
So, yeah. Who cares about loose skin and a short neck and claims of Photoshopping and not being a true success story? I am a true success story, because no matter what, I go back to that gym, and I push myself to do difficult workouts.
The comments mean nothing. My determination means everything.
(Also, shout-out to my friend Kristine who actually used her HuffPo commenter account to defend me, and to my friend Kevin who let me whine-text yesterday, and reminded me that people who make nasty comments don't have lives and I am, indeed, a badass.)
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