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.