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Stephanie Davis

Stephanie started an illegal newspaper at her middle school called The Underground—which was printed on copy paper stapled together—thus beginning her foray into the world of publishing. She went on to be editor of her high school newspaper, worked at The Red and Black (UGA's esteemed newspaper)...

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Guest blogger: Intern Jessica

 This is my awesome, super smartie intern Jessica. She’s working for us this summer while she’s on break from UNC Chapel Hill.  Here and there she’ll be guest blogging because I am lazy and need a hard worker to fill in for me. Ha. Read her latest entry below.

“That’s what I get for giving my number to a random guy at the BP!”  I thought as I lay nauseated on the massage table of a small gym in Buckhead.

Like every other female I know, I woke up mid-March dreading bathing suit season.  Of course I sat on my arse the first half of summer enjoying plenty of free time to hone my sloth skills. When my friend and I decided to go to Tampa for Independence Day this weekend (beach included), it was time to find a magic cure for couch potato butt.

That was what made me such easy prey when only a few days later my wolf in sheep’s clothing came in the form of a personal trainer giving away free sessions at the local BP.

I jumped at the chance to get a few tips from a professional about my dream beach bod. As I did a warm up on the treadmill and told him all about my trouble areas, I wasn’t afraid (he even upped my speed because I looked a little bored). However after ten jackknives I was quite ashamed at my inability to lift my legs off the floor. The shame quickly turned into worry as my legs began to turn to water every time I tried to stand. Worry soon morphed into terribly sickened and within the next few moments I was laid out with big muscular men handing me Gatorade and wet towels (one looking very much like Vin Diesel).

Apparently, after only 25 minutes of circuit training I was down for the count and required 15 minutes of heavy rest. To say the least I was very ashamed of myself. I am young and I cannot take 30 minutes of heavy exercise!? What? Tisk, tisk… On my way home (after I stopped once to rest again) I began to think– If I had millions of dollars and was in the celebrity spotlight, I can definitely see how some ladies choose plastic surgery over even a single day at the gym. I might have to start reserving my judgement on those that take that route...