A corporate colleague of mine is also a professional fitness model. Whenever I talk to her, it's hard to keep eye contact because I'm always looking at her arms. Motivated by the progress I've made at the gym over the last year, I've begun asking her for advice on lifting and nutrition.
Yesterday morning, I ditched the gym because she and I planned to go by GNC after work, where she would recommend a few dietary supplements (nothing hardcore like what she takes - just enough for someone who enjoys lifting but isn't pursing a professional career), and then she worked me out at the gym. I was surprised that she, a professional fitness model who benches her body weight, was impressed with my bench press, my leg press and the fact that I can do push-ups with good form. A lot of women at my gym can. But, boy, is my body sorry today.
Last night, since the gym was closing before I got in some cardio, I decided to walk part of the way home to Harlem. I should have walked up Sixth Avenue so that I could avoid the crowds in Times Square, but before I could think of it, I was almost to Broadway. Just as I made it north of the hustle and bustle under the giant megatrons and was able to resume a brisk pace, I saw this (phone photo op below) and sent it to my best friend.