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Spaghetti arms. That term stuck in my craw as a teenager. “I’m a runner, okay? Excess muscle is a detriment in this sport! Among my scrawny runner buddies I’m bulky!”
That illusion lasted until I went to college. I walked into my dorm room the first day to discover my roommate looked like an ancient Greek statue of Perseus. David? Theseus? You get my point.
I tried going to the gym, but dear looorrrrd that’s boring! Stand in front of a mirror and watch myself, or watch other people watching each other? I’d rather go for a run. (Rowing was nice though, especially when a gay guy hit on me. “Why thank you! No thank you, but thank you!”)
I later tried rock climbing, since the exercise component there is incidental to the enjoyment. It was a lot of fun (if anyone in the San Francisco Bay Area wants to…
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