I Want to Look Damn Good When the World Sees Me Again
All pandemic long, I’ve been hunting for a way—please, literally any way—to bludgeon myself into exercising with some kind of regularity. The quarantine life has turned me into an Indian Gollum. My arms, never quite jacked but at least semi-toned, currently have about as much bulk as overcooked linguini. Whatever seedlings of abs I had last March are now buried deep beneath a permafrost of flab.


























