My Name Is George

I’ve been participating in an 8-week strength training program.

It’s called Butt Camp.

It’s actually a shred and booty-building program.

There’s a little (optional) competition in this program.

Being competitive, of course I’m participating in it.

I was supposed to do 50 minutes of cardio this morning according to the Butt Camp plan.

I went for a run.

It was especially hot and humid today and while I ran yesterday and the day before and felt great, today I was DYING.

I was feeling a little shaky and nauseous and I did not want to pass out on the side of the road from heat stroke, so at 38 minutes I stopped and walked.

About ten seconds after I stopped running, a man who lives about a quarter mile down the road from me was at the end of his driveway.

I’ve seen him around, but I’ve never really talked to him. He’s probably about my dad’s age.

He handed me a flower right as I got to his mailbox.

It was a black-eyed Susan.

The first thought I had was, “Don’t let me breathe on you!!!”

But the only thing that came out of my mouth was a surprised “Thanks!”

“You know, my name is Susan,” I told him.

“My name is George,” he said.

And that was that.

I continued walking toward home.

George continued walking toward his house.

Maybe it was a coincidence that I stopped running right before George’s driveway as he picked a black eyed Susan and then gave it to me.

But I really don’t think so.

Wanna look cute while you work out?

Wanna look cute while you don’t work out?

JOIN MY BADASS ZYIA COMMUNITY.