First of all some congratulations are in order to myself.  Not only did I wake-up at 6:00a this morning to workout, I am still alive.  That is an amazing feat as the morning is not my friend and working out has not occurred in a hot minute.

When Bailey's Blast and I walked up to the instructor, I could already see what kind of workout this was going to be.  He had that Cheshire grin on his face followed by a non-stop staring contest where he was the only competitor.  Yes.  It was a tall workout.

For the first 10 minutes he did a good job of not verbalizing what was written all over his face.  But then, it was like he just couldn't take it anymore and as we started our first run he blurted out the comment we all love to hate "you must be 7ft tall." Normally, this comment would elicit an unladylike response however I couldn't breathe, so I just cut my eyes at him and said 6'6" in between puffs.

Next, we were doing some kind of torture exercise where you basically use every muscle in your body. Instead of cheering us on he again, singles me out in the class of 7 and says "this must be easy for you because you are so long." At this point, I wanted to fight him, but again, the body was weak and I chose breathing.

Now we are 20 minutes into the 45 minute workout and he starts in with the "did you play basketball" BS.  Sir, does it matter?  Right now I am not clearly at your boot camp trying to get right. Give it a rest.

Side note: every time he makes a comment Bailey is shaking her head and chuckling because she knows this is all going in a blog later.

Alright, so now we are almost to the cool down and this man has the nerve to start calling me Stretch. First of all, I don't know you like that and second, I don't know you like that, third, shut up.

The piece de resistance (in my French voice), he tells me how tall he is (5'1") and infers that I make him feel like a peon. Insecurity is a beach isn't it?

So let's do the math; in a 45 minute workout he commented about the tall for at least 35 minutes of it but I guarantee he is STILL talking about it.

The moral of the story: there isn't one.  It's simply just another example of why the world is obsessed with us.

You may have seen this picture before. I posted it on instagram over a month ago. Clearly I was dodging too many tall comments to take pictures this morning. BUT I needed a visual. Hence the re-post. And before you say anything...yes, I am aware that I needed a lint brush.