Thursday, July 24, 2008
Jungle Boogie
Monday was a great day! Son-ray came by the shop on his way home, and I invited him to come check out my gym, which he took me up on. Stein gracefully worked him into my routine, which I did not expect. I love Stein. He's such a great guy.
I could see that Dash was impressed after the first set (with two more sets of three to go!). Stein had him sweating and working hard, doing the same routine as me, but with heavier weights. Yeah, the kid was really sweating and I could see he was both dubious about doing the entire work-out, as well as ready to go through it to the end (hell, you can't let your middle aged mom get the best of you, can you???). He does go to the gym, and he is athletic, but he hasn't been doing these intensive training sessions, as I have, for the last six months.
At the end of the hour, Dashiell was pretty thrashed. As he should be. Stein is a great teacher, and an A-Plus task-master. But even thrashed, D. liked some of the dynamic/explosive movements so much he went in for another set. I gave Dash some of the protein smoothie I always have ready post-workout, which he was really going to need.
The apex of this whole thing was that he texted his GF as left for home; "My mom is a SAVAGE, and her trainer is NO JOKE." Yeah, that felt really good.
I could see that Dash was impressed after the first set (with two more sets of three to go!). Stein had him sweating and working hard, doing the same routine as me, but with heavier weights. Yeah, the kid was really sweating and I could see he was both dubious about doing the entire work-out, as well as ready to go through it to the end (hell, you can't let your middle aged mom get the best of you, can you???). He does go to the gym, and he is athletic, but he hasn't been doing these intensive training sessions, as I have, for the last six months.
At the end of the hour, Dashiell was pretty thrashed. As he should be. Stein is a great teacher, and an A-Plus task-master. But even thrashed, D. liked some of the dynamic/explosive movements so much he went in for another set. I gave Dash some of the protein smoothie I always have ready post-workout, which he was really going to need.
The apex of this whole thing was that he texted his GF as left for home; "My mom is a SAVAGE, and her trainer is NO JOKE." Yeah, that felt really good.
Friday, July 18, 2008
Hot Thang!
Today was the 5th day in a row I made it to the gym. Tues/Friday were days with Stein, but Mon, Wed, Thurs, I actually made it on my own and did those 2K rows. Today, I could think of every excuse in the world why meeting with Stein wasn't going to work; I don't know ... I have cramps. I woke up at 5:30 and I'm tired ... too much rowing ...
I woke up at 5:30 a.m., went toward the kitchen and something smells nasty. Oh hell, Stella the bulldog got diarrhea sometime during the night. Nope. Not going there... I turn around and go back to bed. And ignore it .... 7:00 a.m. I can't ignore this any longer. I clean up the crap, mop the floor, take out the trash. Damn. I have a doctor's appointment at 9:00 a.m. Go back to bed, pretend I'm just too wiped out to make the appointment. 7:30 a.m. Okay, that's lame. Get up, shower, scowl at the dogs who are cowering because they can tell I'm pissed. Open windows to air out the house.
Get to the Gyn, who is always droll. He does the PAP smear and palpates things that aren't supposed to be palpated and it doesn't feel good. He looks me in the eye as we discuss the issue of getting older, am I in menopause? No, not by a Looooong shot. Periods? Normal as they 've ever been, well I do have horrendous cramps.... He's been my Gyn for many years now. He's frank, honest, doesn't pull any punches. Offers me Motrin for my cramps, which I accept. I notice he has no problem with wiping his cheek right after taking the glove off his hand, and I'm kind of impressed that he's not grossed out that his hand was all up in me a couple minutes before, yet he doesn't even wash his hands. Weird that I took notice of this, but there ya go. Is this TMI? Yeah, to me, too. But what the fuck. Every chick goes through this, we just don't usually discuss it in detail. Suffice it to say, there is nothing more weird than a strange guy smushing your tits, then smashing your vagina in order to check everything out. Hey, Doc, it all felt okay when I got here.. now I'm not so sure... All the while we're discussing what my cervix looks like. Dude! I've never seen my cervix, and I see no need to see it now, in this sterile room with you. I can do this later with my husband, should we decide to do so. Do We Need to Be Discussing This? No. Not in this lifetime. I'm no prude, not by a longshot, but No One but a lover should be so intimate with these parts, which is probably why I do this only every three years, as prescribed by Dr. B.
Okay, so I go through that bullshit, after cleaning up dogshit, watering the tomato plants and trying to find some clean underwear. Once I get back home, I make coffee and healthy wholegrain soy-sausage egg mcmuffin's for my McMuffin, and then it's off to the Motorcycle Shop for more fun n' games.
It's a busy day, and I'm still coming up with excuses to skip my appointment with Stein. Except I know Stein's not going to accept my bullshit excuses today. I'm not sick, I haven't hurt anything, and I'm perfectly capable of doing my work out. So I go.
We start with kettle ball "throws", which means you bring it down through your legs, using your lower back, then up level to your face, using the momentum, continue up to a 20 count. Feels easy, up to a point. That point being when the lower back starts complaining about the effort, inner thighs straining, and lower back starting to strain. The sweat starts rolling and my lungs are aching. At about #10, I can feel it in my inner thighs, my abs and lower back. Stein tells me to focus on the lower back next time. I thought I was; guess I wasn't. Next, pull downs at 90 pounds, my personal best weight thus far (I've seen men who can't do this). Hell, I can't even remember the core exercise we did. But that's okay, I'll be reminded next week.
We do this two more times.
Second set: these ridiculous side-to-side skips, touching a 10 pound medicine ball from one cone on the left, ten feet over, touch down on the right. one and one, two and two, three and three... Are you kidding me? This hurts! I keep going. It sucks, what a great workout. Second exercise, hold a soccer ball between your feet, straight up. Take a weight in your two hands, and then stretch toward your feet. Count of 20. Ball plank, take two 15 pound weights and do some fly's. Yea! That's so much fun, I want to barf! Let's do that two more times!
Third set: One-leg push ups; sit on a bench, take a 20 pound medicine ball and then step up on one leg; do this 10 times on each side. You'd be surprised how hard this can be. One-armed wood choppers. I ask for an additional 10 pounds because, I suppose, I'm a masochist, but it's what I needed. Three-point plank: one foot in the air for 5 secs, the other foot up for 5 for at least 30 seconds total. It's harder than you think, especially after doing the first sets of exercises.
Here's where I discuss Stein's medicine ball: this thing is a three-foot circumference slightly smooshy ball that weighs 20 pounds. That seems easy, right? Well it's not. Try keeping one of these things aloft while you are doing lower body work. I sound like a whiner, but the truth is, the 20 pound medicine ball is a significantly difficult tool to work with and I don't like... no, not at all.
The end result of all this complaining? I feel like Super Woman, like I do every Tues/Friday and wiped out as I am, I know that my body is stronger than anyone would imagine. Powerful. Amazing. Healthy. Strong. Well, my Sun-ray calls me to tell me the sonogram of the 9 week old fetus shows four limbs, all in the right place, a nice round head, and a soundly beating heart... It's kicking and moving around like a tiny gummy bear, and all I can think is... wow! Wow! WOW! Sun-Ray is beaming, the happiest guy on the planet, and thankfully starting to consider finances and budgeting, which needs be done. Babies aren't cheap. Diapers are expensive. Thankfully, there are few of us more than interested enough to invest in baby stuff.
I get through this workout, in this week, the first week I'm pushed myself hard five days in a row, and I'm looking forward to a good five-mile hike with my doggies this weekend. Muscles are a bit sore, but they feel taut and strong, blood pressure is way down (as measured by Kaiser this a.m. -- at worst it was about 160/90, and is now 127/73 -- totally normal) and overall, I know from blood work earlier in this regimen, that my blood sugar is down from pre-diabetic to completely normal and my cholesterol is lowering dramatically.
And after I got home home and took a shower, I saw a body that I didn't have six months ago. It's a body reminiscent of one I used to know.
Hot Thang.
I woke up at 5:30 a.m., went toward the kitchen and something smells nasty. Oh hell, Stella the bulldog got diarrhea sometime during the night. Nope. Not going there... I turn around and go back to bed. And ignore it .... 7:00 a.m. I can't ignore this any longer. I clean up the crap, mop the floor, take out the trash. Damn. I have a doctor's appointment at 9:00 a.m. Go back to bed, pretend I'm just too wiped out to make the appointment. 7:30 a.m. Okay, that's lame. Get up, shower, scowl at the dogs who are cowering because they can tell I'm pissed. Open windows to air out the house.
Get to the Gyn, who is always droll. He does the PAP smear and palpates things that aren't supposed to be palpated and it doesn't feel good. He looks me in the eye as we discuss the issue of getting older, am I in menopause? No, not by a Looooong shot. Periods? Normal as they 've ever been, well I do have horrendous cramps.... He's been my Gyn for many years now. He's frank, honest, doesn't pull any punches. Offers me Motrin for my cramps, which I accept. I notice he has no problem with wiping his cheek right after taking the glove off his hand, and I'm kind of impressed that he's not grossed out that his hand was all up in me a couple minutes before, yet he doesn't even wash his hands. Weird that I took notice of this, but there ya go. Is this TMI? Yeah, to me, too. But what the fuck. Every chick goes through this, we just don't usually discuss it in detail. Suffice it to say, there is nothing more weird than a strange guy smushing your tits, then smashing your vagina in order to check everything out. Hey, Doc, it all felt okay when I got here.. now I'm not so sure... All the while we're discussing what my cervix looks like. Dude! I've never seen my cervix, and I see no need to see it now, in this sterile room with you. I can do this later with my husband, should we decide to do so. Do We Need to Be Discussing This? No. Not in this lifetime. I'm no prude, not by a longshot, but No One but a lover should be so intimate with these parts, which is probably why I do this only every three years, as prescribed by Dr. B.
Okay, so I go through that bullshit, after cleaning up dogshit, watering the tomato plants and trying to find some clean underwear. Once I get back home, I make coffee and healthy wholegrain soy-sausage egg mcmuffin's for my McMuffin, and then it's off to the Motorcycle Shop for more fun n' games.
It's a busy day, and I'm still coming up with excuses to skip my appointment with Stein. Except I know Stein's not going to accept my bullshit excuses today. I'm not sick, I haven't hurt anything, and I'm perfectly capable of doing my work out. So I go.
We start with kettle ball "throws", which means you bring it down through your legs, using your lower back, then up level to your face, using the momentum, continue up to a 20 count. Feels easy, up to a point. That point being when the lower back starts complaining about the effort, inner thighs straining, and lower back starting to strain. The sweat starts rolling and my lungs are aching. At about #10, I can feel it in my inner thighs, my abs and lower back. Stein tells me to focus on the lower back next time. I thought I was; guess I wasn't. Next, pull downs at 90 pounds, my personal best weight thus far (I've seen men who can't do this). Hell, I can't even remember the core exercise we did. But that's okay, I'll be reminded next week.
We do this two more times.
Second set: these ridiculous side-to-side skips, touching a 10 pound medicine ball from one cone on the left, ten feet over, touch down on the right. one and one, two and two, three and three... Are you kidding me? This hurts! I keep going. It sucks, what a great workout. Second exercise, hold a soccer ball between your feet, straight up. Take a weight in your two hands, and then stretch toward your feet. Count of 20. Ball plank, take two 15 pound weights and do some fly's. Yea! That's so much fun, I want to barf! Let's do that two more times!
Third set: One-leg push ups; sit on a bench, take a 20 pound medicine ball and then step up on one leg; do this 10 times on each side. You'd be surprised how hard this can be. One-armed wood choppers. I ask for an additional 10 pounds because, I suppose, I'm a masochist, but it's what I needed. Three-point plank: one foot in the air for 5 secs, the other foot up for 5 for at least 30 seconds total. It's harder than you think, especially after doing the first sets of exercises.
Here's where I discuss Stein's medicine ball: this thing is a three-foot circumference slightly smooshy ball that weighs 20 pounds. That seems easy, right? Well it's not. Try keeping one of these things aloft while you are doing lower body work. I sound like a whiner, but the truth is, the 20 pound medicine ball is a significantly difficult tool to work with and I don't like... no, not at all.
The end result of all this complaining? I feel like Super Woman, like I do every Tues/Friday and wiped out as I am, I know that my body is stronger than anyone would imagine. Powerful. Amazing. Healthy. Strong. Well, my Sun-ray calls me to tell me the sonogram of the 9 week old fetus shows four limbs, all in the right place, a nice round head, and a soundly beating heart... It's kicking and moving around like a tiny gummy bear, and all I can think is... wow! Wow! WOW! Sun-Ray is beaming, the happiest guy on the planet, and thankfully starting to consider finances and budgeting, which needs be done. Babies aren't cheap. Diapers are expensive. Thankfully, there are few of us more than interested enough to invest in baby stuff.
I get through this workout, in this week, the first week I'm pushed myself hard five days in a row, and I'm looking forward to a good five-mile hike with my doggies this weekend. Muscles are a bit sore, but they feel taut and strong, blood pressure is way down (as measured by Kaiser this a.m. -- at worst it was about 160/90, and is now 127/73 -- totally normal) and overall, I know from blood work earlier in this regimen, that my blood sugar is down from pre-diabetic to completely normal and my cholesterol is lowering dramatically.
And after I got home home and took a shower, I saw a body that I didn't have six months ago. It's a body reminiscent of one I used to know.
Hot Thang.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Nothin' from nothin' leaves nothin'
Vlad-Stein, my trainer, has been pushing me to work on my off days (those without his "tutelage"; can we re-categorize this is torture? No?) So on Monday, our Motorcycle Business's slooooowest day of the week, it was, well, slow. So I decided to take a half an hour to do something at the gym. I always feel like an ass going to the gym to walk on a treadmill, so I figured I'd try something Stein had asked me to do last week: the rowing machine. This thing was (forgive me) FUCKED UP when he first set me to the 2000 meter task, but I figured what the hell, if I can do 5oo meter mini-stints, I can do this. So, I got on the treadmill for a 10 minute warm-up, at a 10% incline and then settled in to the rower, set at level 5 (mid-level). I got to rowing, listening to some raucous Stevie Wonder tunes (having deleted the soft, soul stirring bullshit) and just sat there rowing. Before I knew it the meter read 1K, so I kept going... until the meter finally hit 2000K and I stopped, purple in the face, breath coming hard and fast. Damn, that was difficult. I'd never done that before, but I felt an amazing sense of exhiliration and accomplishment. Tuesday, meeting with Stein, once again whupped into a sense of humility, I wondered why the hell was it all so damned hard? So I went to the gym again on Wednesday, and rowed 2000 meters. But once I was in the groove, I just kept going, ending up at 2700 meters. Today, I did the same 10 minutes on the treadmill, and another 2,000 meters on the rower. I would probably have done more, except for knowing that Stein has me for an hour tomorrow and I can't completely wear myself out.
Let me also add that when I proudly told Vlad-Stein I'd done 2000 meters, he almost immediately said, "you should try to get up to 5000 meters". I'm like, What the Fuck Dude?!?!? but I knew that he'd want more from me than I think I can bring. And he's always right.
I've got a whole new body now. It's been six months, and this body is muscled like crazy. Still veiled with a layer of fat, but heck of strong. I know people look at me and think, "Gee, fat angry woman..." what they don't take into account because they can't see it is that I've got astonishing muscle-mass. I could break most women like a twig. It's the knowing this that gives me personal self-esteem; I don't need to prove shit, since I know where I'm at.
Today's anecdote: My son, Dash, started a small road-rage incident the other day ... woman in the other car tried to run the stop sign... darling Sun-ray Dash decides to get pissed off ... and the woman does, too, her toddlers in the backseat. I have to ask Sun-ray, "Dude, you know if we all have to get out of the car, you got a pregnant woman, yourself -- a guy -- and me, your mom." He looks at me for a second or two before I say, "I would break that woman like a damn toothpick. What's the fucking point? I don't want to get into that battle." He drives on, still fuming about the angry woman. I'm just glad that Sun-ray and Angry Woman didn't decide to start a battle.
I'm amazed at my stamina and strength, what my body does now defies the last ten years of laziness. My body is stronger now than it was when I was 30 and working out every day. The circuit training and core-strength emphasis is what's done it. It's even more important now that I'm going to be a grandmother. I don't want to be grandma. I want to be Nana or some derivative. As I read it, I am of a generation who just don't feel old enough to be grandmothers, so we have to redefine ourselves. Personally, I don't want to be that old lady with hard candies on the coffee table in a faux crystal candy bowl. Let me be the one who says to the kid, "We're going on a 5 mile hike..." We'll hunt for some tadpoles, sight some butterflies, identify some native plants, but all the time we'll be hiking up some insane hillside to do all that. And I'll let the kid try to wear ME out.
After I kick the kid's ass, I'm gonna go back home, build a perfect cocktail and say, "Hey, Kid, can you go get granny another olive for her martini?"
Yeah, that's the grandma I'm gonna be. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. I can't wait for my grandkids (just don't call me Granny, dammit). If the kid's dad is any example, they better come out ready to throw some rocks, row some crew, win some Karate tournaments and scrum with some Maori rugby players.... otherwise, they're not gonna be able to handle grandma.
Let me also add that when I proudly told Vlad-Stein I'd done 2000 meters, he almost immediately said, "you should try to get up to 5000 meters". I'm like, What the Fuck Dude?!?!? but I knew that he'd want more from me than I think I can bring. And he's always right.
I've got a whole new body now. It's been six months, and this body is muscled like crazy. Still veiled with a layer of fat, but heck of strong. I know people look at me and think, "Gee, fat angry woman..." what they don't take into account because they can't see it is that I've got astonishing muscle-mass. I could break most women like a twig. It's the knowing this that gives me personal self-esteem; I don't need to prove shit, since I know where I'm at.
Today's anecdote: My son, Dash, started a small road-rage incident the other day ... woman in the other car tried to run the stop sign... darling Sun-ray Dash decides to get pissed off ... and the woman does, too, her toddlers in the backseat. I have to ask Sun-ray, "Dude, you know if we all have to get out of the car, you got a pregnant woman, yourself -- a guy -- and me, your mom." He looks at me for a second or two before I say, "I would break that woman like a damn toothpick. What's the fucking point? I don't want to get into that battle." He drives on, still fuming about the angry woman. I'm just glad that Sun-ray and Angry Woman didn't decide to start a battle.
I'm amazed at my stamina and strength, what my body does now defies the last ten years of laziness. My body is stronger now than it was when I was 30 and working out every day. The circuit training and core-strength emphasis is what's done it. It's even more important now that I'm going to be a grandmother. I don't want to be grandma. I want to be Nana or some derivative. As I read it, I am of a generation who just don't feel old enough to be grandmothers, so we have to redefine ourselves. Personally, I don't want to be that old lady with hard candies on the coffee table in a faux crystal candy bowl. Let me be the one who says to the kid, "We're going on a 5 mile hike..." We'll hunt for some tadpoles, sight some butterflies, identify some native plants, but all the time we'll be hiking up some insane hillside to do all that. And I'll let the kid try to wear ME out.
After I kick the kid's ass, I'm gonna go back home, build a perfect cocktail and say, "Hey, Kid, can you go get granny another olive for her martini?"
Yeah, that's the grandma I'm gonna be. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. I can't wait for my grandkids (just don't call me Granny, dammit). If the kid's dad is any example, they better come out ready to throw some rocks, row some crew, win some Karate tournaments and scrum with some Maori rugby players.... otherwise, they're not gonna be able to handle grandma.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Lovely Day
This morning, I've got this idea to go to Dark Garden and get a new corset, the one day off Carter and I have this week, but dammit, I want a waist cincher. Plus it's D.G.'s one yearly sale so I'd save some money. Poor Carter says he'll join me, but obviously he'd be chaffeuring yet again to do some needless shopping. He wouldn't enjoy it, I know this. Carter's such a great guy. He will do what I want, even if he really doesn't want to. About the only thing he will stay home for is going to some mainstream amusement park, which I understand. Other than that, he's game. What a sweetheart he is.
So Dash and Jessica show up around noon and I suddenly remember there's some event at the Dunsmuir House, so I look it up and sho' nuff, there's the Scottish Games. Now I'm of Irish heritage meself, but it sounds kind of fun, so I switch gears and decide the corset can wait. Off we go. Jessica's hell of tired. The poor thing is just dragging ass through the 2 miles of walking we end up doing, and I'm looking at her thinking "Pobrecita!" Dash, of course, is everywhere; talking to the caber tossers and tossing 90 pound rocks around with guys in kilts jeering him. We spend a great deal of time talking to falconers -- they brought out peregrine falcons, gosshawks, barbary falcons, an enormous owl, even a golden eagle -- and these people are so eager to give out information and help us understand what they do, it's amazing. The actual Scottish gamers are equally eager to talk with us and encourage our interest. These people train all year for these festivals. Dashiell falls in love with the idea of being a gamer and starts chatting up some of the gamers, and this big sturdy chick named Megan gives him her email and wants to work with him! He's so psyched. My boy Dash, he just gets himself into everything and here is wanting to hurl ginormous rocks across the lawn in competition with these big burly Scotts. Good for him!
We get home around 4 p.m. and talk about having some dinner together -- some Harris ranch prime ribs, chicken, and huge home made Caesar salad with fresh dressing -- Yum! And we're having this conversation about the games and then getting some ingredients for the Caesar dressing and Dashiell blurts out: "Jessica's pregnant."
Yeah, they are pregnant and this one (the last one failed) looks like it's going to last. In nine months I will have a grandchild. This is just a Wow evening for me. Dashiell was kind of upset that I didn't react with more glee, but to tell the truth, Jessica had hipped me to her "condition" a few weeks ago, for a variety of reasons. Dashiell has been wrestling with how, when, where to tell me and Jess and I have just been quiet about it. I didn't want to steal his thunder, but it's so obvious she's pregnant; her boobs are huge, her little tummy is pooching a little bit and she's so damned tired, all the time. I've been there, and even if she'd not said a word, I'd have been suspicious. But now the news is out and I'm damned happy about it.
It's never easy to bring a child into the world, and frankly, there's never a perfect, right time. You just do it when it happens and go for the whole ride. It's a blast, and I've never regretted my child, just as I know that this child will be everything s/he should be.
Yes, it was A (perfectly) Lovely Day.
Peace.
So Dash and Jessica show up around noon and I suddenly remember there's some event at the Dunsmuir House, so I look it up and sho' nuff, there's the Scottish Games. Now I'm of Irish heritage meself, but it sounds kind of fun, so I switch gears and decide the corset can wait. Off we go. Jessica's hell of tired. The poor thing is just dragging ass through the 2 miles of walking we end up doing, and I'm looking at her thinking "Pobrecita!" Dash, of course, is everywhere; talking to the caber tossers and tossing 90 pound rocks around with guys in kilts jeering him. We spend a great deal of time talking to falconers -- they brought out peregrine falcons, gosshawks, barbary falcons, an enormous owl, even a golden eagle -- and these people are so eager to give out information and help us understand what they do, it's amazing. The actual Scottish gamers are equally eager to talk with us and encourage our interest. These people train all year for these festivals. Dashiell falls in love with the idea of being a gamer and starts chatting up some of the gamers, and this big sturdy chick named Megan gives him her email and wants to work with him! He's so psyched. My boy Dash, he just gets himself into everything and here is wanting to hurl ginormous rocks across the lawn in competition with these big burly Scotts. Good for him!
We get home around 4 p.m. and talk about having some dinner together -- some Harris ranch prime ribs, chicken, and huge home made Caesar salad with fresh dressing -- Yum! And we're having this conversation about the games and then getting some ingredients for the Caesar dressing and Dashiell blurts out: "Jessica's pregnant."
Yeah, they are pregnant and this one (the last one failed) looks like it's going to last. In nine months I will have a grandchild. This is just a Wow evening for me. Dashiell was kind of upset that I didn't react with more glee, but to tell the truth, Jessica had hipped me to her "condition" a few weeks ago, for a variety of reasons. Dashiell has been wrestling with how, when, where to tell me and Jess and I have just been quiet about it. I didn't want to steal his thunder, but it's so obvious she's pregnant; her boobs are huge, her little tummy is pooching a little bit and she's so damned tired, all the time. I've been there, and even if she'd not said a word, I'd have been suspicious. But now the news is out and I'm damned happy about it.
It's never easy to bring a child into the world, and frankly, there's never a perfect, right time. You just do it when it happens and go for the whole ride. It's a blast, and I've never regretted my child, just as I know that this child will be everything s/he should be.
Yes, it was A (perfectly) Lovely Day.
Peace.
Saturday, July 12, 2008
the lesson of the moth
i was talking to a moth
the other evening
he was trying to break into
an electric light bulb
and fry himself on the wires
why do you fellows
pull this stunt i asked him
because it is the conventional
thing for moths or why
if that had been an uncovered
candle instead of an electric
light bulb you would
now be a small unsightly cinder
have you no sense
plenty of it he answered
but at times we get tired
of using it
we get bored with the routine
and crave beauty
and excitement
fire is beautiful
and we know that if we get
too close it will kill us
but what does it matter
it is better to be happy
for a moment
and be burned up with beauty
than to live a long time
and be bored all the while
so we wad all our life up
into one little roll
and then we shoot the roll
that is what life is for
it is better to be a part of beauty
for one instance and then cease to
exist than to exist forever
and never be a part of beauty
our attitude toward life
is come easy go easy
we are like human beings
used to be before they became
too civilized to enjoy themselves
and before I could argue him
out of his philosophy
he went a immolated himself
on a patent cigar lighter
i do not agree with him
myself i would rather have
half the happiness and twice
the longevity
but at the same time i wish
there was something i wanted
as badly as he wanted to fry himself
-- archy
the other evening
he was trying to break into
an electric light bulb
and fry himself on the wires
why do you fellows
pull this stunt i asked him
because it is the conventional
thing for moths or why
if that had been an uncovered
candle instead of an electric
light bulb you would
now be a small unsightly cinder
have you no sense
plenty of it he answered
but at times we get tired
of using it
we get bored with the routine
and crave beauty
and excitement
fire is beautiful
and we know that if we get
too close it will kill us
but what does it matter
it is better to be happy
for a moment
and be burned up with beauty
than to live a long time
and be bored all the while
so we wad all our life up
into one little roll
and then we shoot the roll
that is what life is for
it is better to be a part of beauty
for one instance and then cease to
exist than to exist forever
and never be a part of beauty
our attitude toward life
is come easy go easy
we are like human beings
used to be before they became
too civilized to enjoy themselves
and before I could argue him
out of his philosophy
he went a immolated himself
on a patent cigar lighter
i do not agree with him
myself i would rather have
half the happiness and twice
the longevity
but at the same time i wish
there was something i wanted
as badly as he wanted to fry himself
-- archy
Smoke gets in your eyes
So I go to the gym yesterday, and I'm mad. I came in angry just because. Stein, my ever-tormenting mentor and physical trainer, sets me up for lunges and hands me two 15 pound weights to haul around on this arduous task. I ask him, "Why the hell did I just lost 30 pounds if you're gonna add it back on every time I do a exercise?" He laughs and I scowl, knowing that I'm being asked to do something more taxing, since it has become so much easier. So we get to the lunges, one and one, two and two, three and three, etc. etc. That's why I pay this man. He burns my ass and pisses me off, and works me. That's the point, you see.
The air quality is bad here in Bay Area or in California in general, in case anyone cares. We're literally burning down. Here in the cozy East Bay, we aren't burning. Yet. But we are living under a cloud of noxious particulates and smoke that hangs over like a shroud of death. There are several hundred small and large fires all over Northern CA, many of which are burning out of control. The smoke has to blow somewhere, and right now, it's blowing right into our nooks and crannies. Not fun. It causes me anxiety, the not being able to see the blue sky thing, and every time I take deep breaths -- like when doing those lunges -- and my chest clutches up and I feel like I can't breathe. Focus, I say to myself. Just focus. I tell Stein I'm having trouble breathing, and I can tell he lets up on me a little bit, just a little bit. He's waiting to see if I pass out, clutching my chest like a horror-film victim. I get the feeling he thinks I'm just complaining, but honest, I'm not. I can not fucking breath here, folks, but I'm going to do this entire hour of circuit training today because giving up is not in my vocabulary. The not giving up thing is the only viable reason I'm even here at all.
But this is circuit training, which means 3 rounds of 3 exercises with minimal rest. Then you do cardio, and another three rounds of three exercises. More cardio. Three more rounds, three more exercises. Finally, after a final round of cross-fit intensive exercises, I'm done. I'm glad and as always, proud of myself for doing it.
Here's a little story, courtesy of my own schadenfreude: I was at the gym one day a couple weeks ago, working out by myself, and there's this large woman who comes in and only does the weight machines. No cardio, no free weights, just machines. She keeps giving me the hairy eyeball, like somehow I stole her boyfriend back in high school 30 years ago. I'm seeing this out of the corner of my eye. I know she's seeing this middle aged, overweight woman doing things she'd probably never thought about (that's okay, neither did I until the last six months), and she's thinking that I'm just a show-off. My second circuit, I decide to isolate on the leg press machine, so I get on there and put on 175 pounds of resistance weight (I have done up to 210) and proceed on my 15 reps. Then I get up and go back to doing some Swiss ball crunches, and out of the corner of my eye I see the fat lady kind of sneer at me and settle herself on the leg press. She doesn't change the weight, I notice, and think "Shit! She's actually going to try it!" And by Golly Miss Molly, that dumbass really did. I watched her push as hard as she could and that weight wasn't moving anywhere. She stressed and strained, and I'm sitting there on my 20th crunch going, "Oh my god lady, you're gonna kill yourself". But thank God, she finally decided that she wasn't going to make it after all and moved the weights down. She stopped glaring at me after that. Perhaps she learned her lesson:
Don't ever think that what you see is what it appears. Just ask the fat the lady singing on the leg press machine.
By the way, I wasn't pissed off anymore yesterday, it just got kind of beaten out of me. And the sunset is wildfire orange-red, just as it should be with a huge cloud of smothering, noxious burn-off.
The air quality is bad here in Bay Area or in California in general, in case anyone cares. We're literally burning down. Here in the cozy East Bay, we aren't burning. Yet. But we are living under a cloud of noxious particulates and smoke that hangs over like a shroud of death. There are several hundred small and large fires all over Northern CA, many of which are burning out of control. The smoke has to blow somewhere, and right now, it's blowing right into our nooks and crannies. Not fun. It causes me anxiety, the not being able to see the blue sky thing, and every time I take deep breaths -- like when doing those lunges -- and my chest clutches up and I feel like I can't breathe. Focus, I say to myself. Just focus. I tell Stein I'm having trouble breathing, and I can tell he lets up on me a little bit, just a little bit. He's waiting to see if I pass out, clutching my chest like a horror-film victim. I get the feeling he thinks I'm just complaining, but honest, I'm not. I can not fucking breath here, folks, but I'm going to do this entire hour of circuit training today because giving up is not in my vocabulary. The not giving up thing is the only viable reason I'm even here at all.
But this is circuit training, which means 3 rounds of 3 exercises with minimal rest. Then you do cardio, and another three rounds of three exercises. More cardio. Three more rounds, three more exercises. Finally, after a final round of cross-fit intensive exercises, I'm done. I'm glad and as always, proud of myself for doing it.
Here's a little story, courtesy of my own schadenfreude: I was at the gym one day a couple weeks ago, working out by myself, and there's this large woman who comes in and only does the weight machines. No cardio, no free weights, just machines. She keeps giving me the hairy eyeball, like somehow I stole her boyfriend back in high school 30 years ago. I'm seeing this out of the corner of my eye. I know she's seeing this middle aged, overweight woman doing things she'd probably never thought about (that's okay, neither did I until the last six months), and she's thinking that I'm just a show-off. My second circuit, I decide to isolate on the leg press machine, so I get on there and put on 175 pounds of resistance weight (I have done up to 210) and proceed on my 15 reps. Then I get up and go back to doing some Swiss ball crunches, and out of the corner of my eye I see the fat lady kind of sneer at me and settle herself on the leg press. She doesn't change the weight, I notice, and think "Shit! She's actually going to try it!" And by Golly Miss Molly, that dumbass really did. I watched her push as hard as she could and that weight wasn't moving anywhere. She stressed and strained, and I'm sitting there on my 20th crunch going, "Oh my god lady, you're gonna kill yourself". But thank God, she finally decided that she wasn't going to make it after all and moved the weights down. She stopped glaring at me after that. Perhaps she learned her lesson:
Don't ever think that what you see is what it appears. Just ask the fat the lady singing on the leg press machine.
By the way, I wasn't pissed off anymore yesterday, it just got kind of beaten out of me. And the sunset is wildfire orange-red, just as it should be with a huge cloud of smothering, noxious burn-off.
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