I work out. Every day. It's been paying off quite a bit in the last week, specifically. I mean, I'm smokin' hot all of a sudden. Literally, I'm walking to the gym yesterday and I realize my pants are almost to my knees. Hell yes, I say.

However, it's not without a price. I am the grossest person ever during my workouts. I am that girl, the one who's sweaty and splotchy and red as hell, breathing all heavy and looking like she's about to explode. It's not a pretty picture.

When I work out, I get in the zone. I'm going with the beat of the music, concentrating on keeping my heart rate up, counting the seconds until I can be done, but still kind of enjoying the "no pain-no gain" mantra I mentally chant.

That's why it came as such a shock to me the other day when the woman working out next to me started tapping me on the shoulder. I'm sure I glared at her with a sort of intensity as I ripped my earbuds out and, through my heavy exhaling, asked "Can I help you?"

"I'm sorry," she said, hesitantly pausing. "Can..... could you just maybe be a little quieter?"

I was immediately perplexed, and I began to slow my pace. Quieter? I realized that I wasn't drinking water during this specific workout (another story in and of itself, but let's just say some bitch wouldn't lend me a quarter), and I was severely dehydrated.

"Oh god, I'm breathing really loudly, aren't I?" I asked. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry, here's the thing, I don't have water, I'm super dehydrated, oh god, I must sound so gross, I'm so sorry -- "

"No," she interrupted, "that isn't it." She took a deep breath. A million disgusting thoughts flooded my brain. Are my thighs squeaking together? Sick. Is there some sort of noise that my arm flab is making as it hits my side? Gross! Oh god, what is she going to say? Jesus, woman, I'm not a monster, I'm just a girl trying to work out, okay? What the hell is wrong??

"Your..... your singing... thing... is just... kind of loud," she finally said.

My mouth fell open. I stopped dead in my tracks. What?

"Yeah," she said, nervously. "You're... yeah, you're kind of half-singing but only when you exhale and you're not really making any words," she finished quickly.

I kind of stood there on my machine with my mouth hanging open, my hand on my throat, letting the numbers tick away, letting the calories-per-hour meter drop sharply. The woman looked at me with a mix of pity and stifled humor.

"I... uh.... I'm sorry... um.... I...." We just kind of stared at each other for a few moments. Keeping my gaze, she began moving on her machine again. I did the same. We locked eyes for the next few minutes, until a bead of sweat dripped into her eye and she blinked. I took that opportunity to break the intense lock and continued on with the longest remaining six minutes of my life.