Seemingly impenetrable miseries aside, it would appear that I've discovered the ancient secret to happiness; going to the gym. UCSB's recreation center is touted as second to none, with facilities jam-packed with all sorts of machines and weights. It's a rather comforting thought to know that there's a place I can go to to pretend like I have a modicum of strength. Cool, if exhausting stuff.
Today was the first day I hit that place up, so I started lightly by going over seven miles on an exercise bike and over two on a Stairmaster, both of which murdered my loins and caused me to have a massive heart attack. But I miraculously recovered and am now swimming in a pool of good-feeling and happiness, no doubt brought on by a flood of endorphins.
But yeah, it cheered me up real nice. Almost to the point where it makes me forget I have to miss House and go to places tonight, augggggghhhhh.
PS. There is officially no shame in panting like a dog with lung cancer on a Stairmaster. That thing is brutal.
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