if you can pinch an inch...

                                                   Dream Body.

I do not care where you work out, how often you do it, or what your ab routine entails. Why are you telling me? Better yet, why are you telling all of your friends on Facebook? Current topics such as the tsunami in Japan, Charlie Sheen's bi-winning streak, Chris Brown's penis expose on Perez Hilton, and what I ate for breakfast, just about trumps anything you were planning on sharing about your workout experience. Obviously if you have the time, energy and hydration to post status' about your how hard you exercised, you didn't exercise hard enough. From my experience, the last thing on your mind during a strenuous workout is Facebook bragging rights. Usually, I'm trying to understand the stabbing pain in my side, how to hide the sweat stains forming under my gray t-shirt and why the hell my legs itch like crazy every time I run.

My only question is, why? And I believe the only answer is, attention. Every picture you post, every status you write and every comment you like on Facebook is purely motivated by a need for attention. Any opposition to this theory is a lie. And the people who don't care for shallow bouts of Facebook attention keep diaries and scrap books and photo albums and old letters. I myself can be a "Facebook whore." But when someone has the audacity to write about how totally ripped the got or how they're "legit pissed off" because they ran out of supplements, I can't help but wonder if exercising is poisoning their brains. Maybe they're just insecure and feel it necessary to update me on how healthy they are. But all the while they're telling me how physically fit their bodies look, I'm thinking of how mentally challenged their brains are. 

Also, please don't brag about the prestigious reputation of your gym, how much it is a month, or how new the equipment is. If I choose to, which I don't, I can work out for free in my room. All I need is a jump rope and hula hoop. No one stares at you as your slow you pace, there are no sweaty anonymous butt stains on the yoga mats, and there's certainly no annoying instructors teaching new-age classes like, "pole dancing for elderly males." Perhaps I should alert these braggers that exercising is supposed to release the endorphins, not bragging about it afterwards.