I went to the gym again, demanding that my still-sore hamstrings were given a break- my butt was going off-duty. My trainer told me no problem, he'd go easy on me, AND he had a surprise- I was going to have a punching bag workout. Yay!! You can imagine how this appealed to my self-image. After a whole round of ab and upper body work, I was given a skipping rope -the boxer's choice- and asked to skip. I learned that I cannot navigate a moving rope. Not even once. He took the rope away. We moved on.
Finally, I strapped on some boxing gloves, and let 'er rip. Woohoo! He let me unleash some uncontrolled fury at the bag, and then demonstrated proper technique. It is so much harder and more awkward than it looks, but it was super fun! And it was a good workout- it didn't take long to break a sweat at this. 5 minutes later, my hands were swollen and wretched, my wrists were sore, and I was being yelled at to keep my gloves up, in case my opponent (a big bag of sand...) wanted to land one on my face. This gym thing is not for the faint of heart. But hey- I'm pretty sure I looked tough doing it. At least if no one was looking too close.
Then more mat-work, and endless strength training... No nice little rowing machines or easy moving sliding weights for me. My guy believes in compound exercises that demand many muscle groups working together and hurting at the same time. And it is done with form and discipline too. Or at least discipline. As for form, everything he has me do is like watching a car accident unfold in slow-motion. He says, "do this-" drops to his hands and knees, jumps his body out to full extension, pops it back in, and jumps into the air in one fluid motion. I try to imitate, but end up with clumsily mismatched leg-lengths, one knee bent too far, back dipped too low or too high, threatening to tip over during the pop back up motion, and then the jump into the air thing doesn't really happen. When did I become so uncoordinated?? Or was I always this way, and I've just been telling myself otherwise?
In my mind's eye, I see myself playing short-stop, fielding anything and everything- dashing and jumping and firing baseballs in with screaming-hot accuracy. I admit that was a long time ago... I recall some ability to negotiate overhangs on big rock walls, firing up those pitches with some agility, and even some showing off. Heck, I even have some film of that somewhere. But now, my mind's eye can't bear to watch. I want the awkward twerp doing reps with these twinkie little free weights to be someone else. And dude- lose the geeky gymshorts.
Last night, Kate and I went to this presentation by the Canadian Royal Geographic Society, on the Yukon's Nahanni National Park. The point was to educate the public on the park's beauty and ecological values, and ask for public support to an initiative to broaden the park's boundaries to include the full watershed of its rivers. I can do that- I'm unemployed and only too happy to write emails to my MP.
And in between that and the errands of the day, I can fool around on the Canadian Online Atlas.
