I HATE defining things, Webster dictionaries, and tight gymnast pants

I HATE defining things. When someone stands up in sacrament meeting and opens their talk on tithing with a definition from Websters, I just want to throw something. Like those old, real Websters dictionaries- the ones that weigh a million pounds- right at their face! Kapow!  Then 4th graders everywhere could cheer that the bulky dictionary their elementary teachers always insisted was necessary for class could finally be put to good use. At any rate, rather than defining my writing style, I'd rather just show you.
Tonight I went to a gymnastics meet. When I first walked through the sweaty track doors, I was nearly blinded by the lights reflecting off the gymnasts’ tight, shimmery pants that sucked so tight on their legs you could hardly tell they were pants at all. For all you know, they could have spray painted red and blue shimmer all over their muscles. At any rate, as I sat down in the stands I was feeling one thing: out of my league!!
So I’m a runner. I go to the gym six days a week. I pride myself on the number of pushups and lunges I can crank out. But my thighs look nothing like the tanks I could see in front of me. These chicks had muscles I didn’t even know existed!
Thinking about their muscles led me to wonder how they could possibly define them so well. I mean, these girls must lift way more than my two 50 pound plates on either side of the leg press. Maybe they just press with those old Webster dictionaries.