Hot, hot, hot

Today I skipped boot camp class (sorry, Mr. Foley; for what it’s worth, our separation pains me, too) to indulge my latest obsession. Yes, I’ve taken to crowding with many other men and women into a chamber heated to at least 100 degrees, wherein I contort my barely clad body into impossible positions and perspire to a degree with which even Oliver Platt might be uncomfortable.

Seriously, guys. I think I’ve found my new favorite form of exercise, not only because the instructor assumed I was young enough to qualify for the student discount, but also because it’s a damned good workout. I honestly didn’t know I could bend like this! Or sweat like this, for that matter. Now if only Leery McLeeryson, who bears an eerie resemblance to Rodney Dangerfield, would stop giving me those creepy looks and grunting during every posture, that would be nice.

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