I’m not a girly-girl. Sure, I can do my makeup and straighten my hair. I even get my eyebrows done every once in a while. But I also cuss like a sailor, ask guys out, have tattoos, and will choose a dark beer over wine every time. If I were a size 6, none of these things would matter but I’m not so they do. I’ve come to a point in life where I really want to be healthier.

But here’s the problem : I fucking hate working out. There is absolutely nothing fun about running on a modified hamster wheel while your boobs fly at your own face threatening bodily harm and your lungs feel like they’ve shrunk three sizes.

My entire fitness regime points toward one goal : a single pull-up. I’ve never been able to do a pull-up. Push-ups, planks, bicep curls, tricep presses – all of these are attainable, sometimes even at heavier weights than one would deem “feminine”. But pull-ups might as well be the Sasquatch of my workout routine.

I have a gym membership and a workout tank that says “If squats were easy they’d be called your mom” – now begins the “Search for Sasquatch”.