Go to a nude beach instead

Another stroke of brilliance! That transformation must've done something to your personality as well - there was just no seeing the previous Sophie as the scintillatingly smart sharp-minded woman you've turned out to be. Not to mention the newly-found confidence of daring to ever go near a nude beach, let alone patronize one.

Not wasting a second, you dress in a light summer gown with nothing underneath and hurry to your car, before ripping off the door clear from its hinges, greatly deforming it in the process.

Sophie: "Ah, hell."

Maybe all isn't lost? The car is like silly putty in your hands - maybe you could mold the door back on? Need to do this from the inside though, since the door wouldn't open afterwards. You shimmy your lithe but impressive build into the sardine can of a car.

Or at least you attempt to. The roof of your car offers absolutely no support - your hand falls right through it like a hammer on paper. In response, your balance is lost and you tumble right on your toned butt, cracking the concrete and totaling what's left of the car. It seems that you've still got all muscles needed for these obscene strength feats, but they're crammed onto themselves majorly, leaving you weighing several tons.

Sophie: "Craaaaaap. I might not've thought this through..."

What can you do? The beach is 20 miles away in another city. Taking a bus or a cab is out of the question, what with your inhuman mass. Maybe an eighteen-wheeler could take you? That'd be obscenely expensive though, not to mention time-consuming to order.

Sophie: "Oouuu... I'm just aching to go! I can't stand still for a moment. I... Hmmm."

Your legs have a strange tick to them. They're very slightly vibrating. At first you thought it was the exertions of your workout, but something about it is much clearer and more controlled than that.

Just then you remember just what you were going to a nude beach for in the first place. To show off your superhuman body! This marble-carved figure clad in nuclear-grade potency, bursting from its seams to show everyone what it's made of. That's what those vibrations are. You lean down a bit and address your legs:

Sophie: "Guess that you guys are aching to show off as well, huh?"

Now you're practically shaking with excitement. Elated, you take pose, preparing to launch off into a sprint. And launch you do, at no less than 700 miles an hour.

Sophie: "G-g-g-g-g-ggeee-zus!"

It's as if running on a volcano, but your legs, calves and feet were all on fire and made of fire, and everything else everywhere was also fire. Fire and pure unrelenting strength. You'd probably come up with something more descriptive, but that's a bit difficult when the world screams past you at exoplanetary windspeeds.

The pavement shatters into sizeable chunks at every footfall, leaving the streets a craggy black asphalt canyon. While this jogging speed of yours falls slightly short of breaking the sound barrier, it does stir up leaves, newspapers and any loose items around, as well as knocking over people.

Steering proves itself a problem. The first two miles or so are a straight, paved road. However, as you try and make a right turn to avoid a corner store, you discover the law of inertia, subsequently soaring through the little shop's walls unimpeded.

Sophie: "JESUS FUCK TURN TURN TURN!"

The entire following street is needed for you to slightly adjust your trajectory to divert yourself towards a narrow alley. While this scores you a missed building, it does send you towards the industrial zone, careening straight into a steel mill - too wide to avoid.

First there's a corrugated outer layer of the wall. Then, a foot of concrete, two stacks of steel girders laid end-on-end, three sets of reinforced concrete walls, a gargantuan cast iron crucible full of molten steel, another stack of scrap iron and the outer wall of the facility. All of these you pass through without hardly even slowing down, leaving behind near-perfect imprints of your chiseled nude body on all of the aforementioned surfaces.

While you must've racked up some sizeable collateral damage, you're fairly sure that nobody died. After the mill there's only desert and forests for miles until reaching the beach - however, knowing how difficult it is to slow down, you begin to do so before the halfway point.

As you reach the final mile, you completely stop running, letting yourself tumble through the air like a tumbleweed made from deformed overlapping cannonballs. On the last bounce, you land safely next to the edge of the fenced beach with a loud 'THUD'.

Finally, after a little less than two terrifying minutes, you've arrived at the beach.