I'm pretty sure that's what my body is saying every time I walk into the gym.
My heart and lungs are wondering why, all of a sudden, I'm taking them out for a night on the town. My muscles are trying to figure out how to handle this new-fangled thing called "working." And let me tell you, my sweat glands have gone into overdrive.
So a funny thing happened last night at the gym. There are mirrors everywhere, so we can make sure our form is correct and (if you're me) check out the cute guy on the treadmill in front of you. I met with Kate, who went through a routine with me on the weights that should work every major muscle group (and have me running up the stairs in no time.) I was looking at myself in the mirror and thinking to myself, "yikes, where did all those lumps come from?" But I focused on my form - stand straight, stomache in, lift from the deltoid - and I forgot to feel bad about how I looked.
Then, after my workout, I walked into the locker room to take a shower. Wrapped in a towel, I caught my eye again in the mirror, only this time, I didn't recognize myself at first. My first thought was, she's sexy.
And "she" was me.
I'm not sure if it was the hour of sweating, or the pink glow in my skin, or that I just felt good for finishing my workout, but there it is: she's sexy.
I'll be going back to the gym tonight, to see if she's there again.