For the past few weeks I’ve been jogging after work. It’s not because I love to jog, but because I’m in a constant battle, a full out war, with gravity. I fear waking up some morning with a huge potbelly and sagging man boobs. The kind of man boobs no loose fitting shirt could possibly hide. The kind of man boobs that people point at and laugh. The kind of man boobs that could breast-feed a small island nation. Laugh if you want, but it could happen… and to you too.
I’m starting slow, a little over a mile a day, with the hope of increasing to two or three miles in a relatively short period of time.
So if you’re sitting in front of the TV watching the latest reality show and you feel the earth move, don’t fret, it’s only me and my man boobs jogging down the street.
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