I am going to start equating exercise with sex.
Except it's selfish sex.
Unequivocal, selfish, sweaty, rage-filled, rough, vampirical, sex. With myself.
It struck me today that my unofficial year of celibacy has indeed weened me off of intimacy and need for touch. This is true to a certain extent (there are always people who seem to be absolutely exempt for my random moods and discouragement) however I find myself still terrified of physical contact with other (or most) people.
My struggle for self improvement is the closest thing I have to the feeling and rush of uninhibited movement and cathartic release. The breathing, the grasping and the pain (for those who dig) culminating to a release and amazing calm. A sense of serene...
Because I know that I'm only 30 more workouts closer to being someone else.
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