Why They Call Her Lassie

I hate to say it, but I'm actually kinda surprised at my level of diligence so far in going to the gym. It's been almost two weeks and I haven't missed a day. I suppose it's still the honeymoon period or whatever, but since my plan is to go after I leave work I'm always worried that a hectic day at the office is going to spring up and prompt me to drive straight to a bar instead.

So far, so good.

The other thing I'm happy about is that I'm already hitting that point where my body is looking forward to the workouts. There were those initial few days where my muscles were screaming out in protest, but more and more I'm leaving my workouts feeling really jazzed up -- which I'm taking as a good sign.

Unfortunately, there has been one negative side effect -- the inside of my truck stinks. Between being where I keep my gym bag while I'm at work and the first upholstered seat I sit on after I work out, things inside the Ford have started to get a little ..gamy.

I'm talking the kind of funk that laughs in the collective faces of Febreeze bottles and small tree-shaped air fresheners hung from the rear-view mirror.

I guess if I'm the only one who ever rides in there it's not that big a deal, but I'd hate to be out and about one night and have my game killed because of the silent but deadly killer living inside my vehicle. Not that the F-150 was ever really a chick magnet to begin with, but if things keep going like this the only hope I'll have is running into Mrs. Honeywell from Porky's

Oh boy, smell that air -- The boys' locker room always turned me on.

Really?
Yeah
..Yeah?
..Yeah.

Yeah

[Listening to: Sevendust, "Waffle"]