I went to Home Despot today to get some necessary items for home improvement (new kitchen faucet) and yard improvement (cedar mulch I know, I just bought some…but I needed more).

As I was loading everything into the van, a grey-haired older lady walked up to me, and said:

“Oh my goodness!  Did you load all of that yourself?!”

I thought “Gee, what do those bags weigh? 20 lbs? I didn’t even notice.”

I said, “Yes.”

And then…

…I shit you not…

She reached out her hand, grabbed my upper arm, and felt my muscles.

“Wow!  You’re doing great!  And at your age too!  Keep it up!”

And then she walked off while my brain spun little hamster circles for a while trying to figure out what happened.

Once again, my friend Sue has done it:  She’s gotten me into trouble, and over my head.

I’ve committed to participate in the Susan G Komen walk for the cure…3 days…sixty miles.

It’s mainly because, when your best friend comes to you and says “I have cancer” and you say “Let me know if there’s anything I can do”…you can’t really renege when she comes up with something…even if it is a grueling three-day walk in September.   Even if it involves sleeping with a stranger in a two-man tent that even the site trying to recruit you describes as “cozy”.

Here’s my personal webpage for the event.  It hasn’t been personalized yet, but the donation button works (nudge nudge).

Here’s the personal website for my team-mate Susy (not to be confused with Sue, who is also on my team, and has met her goal).

Our Team name is “Beautiful Feat”.  Originally, I proposed the name “Oh, my DEAR GOD!  My Feet!  My Feet!  My beautiful feet!”

Most people seemed to think it was really stupid, but nobody came up with anything better, so they shortened it, turned the word “feet” in to a word-play, and  viola!  Clever team name.

When we do a testicular cancer walk, though, I have the perfect team name picked out :  “Not my gum-drop buttons!”

Anyway.

I’d like you to meet my personal trainer, J-dogg.  He’s a real slave-driver.  With him as my coach, I’ll be able to walk to Tibet.  Not that I’d want to walk to Tibet:

 

 

But I’ve got a problem.

In order to do this, I have to raise $2,200 in donations.

That’s where you come in, gentle readers.

It is time to bring you and *the begging* together in the same place.  I don’t ask much of you.  I don’t put ads up here to make money, and I don’t make personal demands upon you except for the occasional participation event (which most of you ignore anyway).

I know you’re out there.  I see the hit counts, and I can count subscribers on the newsreader sites…so don’t pretend you can’t hear me.  Please, please Pleeeeeese contribute to  my fundraising account.

And those of you who keep coming here off of Google searches for “Wookie Scrotum”…

…I think you get enough amusement just from that alone to make it worth a ten-spot.

I was out running with the dog today.  It was nice.

We were loping along, not really pushing it; sort of trotting, really.  The sun was finally shining again, and the air was just the right temperature;  not too warm, not too cold.

I was feeling pretty good.  Not running to work out, just running to save time.  The dog's gotta cover a certain amount of ground in a day, or he gets neurotic.  If I run, this takes less time.

He was behaving very well, running roughly at "heel".  A Fed Ex driver came out from a house and smiled broadly at him as she got into her truck to make notes on her little clipboard. 

Half a block later, it happened.  My toe caught on a raised bit of side-walk, and I tripped.

My Kung-fu reflexes fired, and I thought that - just for a moment there, mind you - I thought that I had avoided a fall.

Unfortunately, my high-strung puppy-dog had much less faith in my alacrity.  He startled, then he jumped.  Then he dashed forward and side-ways all at the same time with his tail between his legs, and he didn't stop until he had hit the end of the leash with a *snap*.

I was done for; fell to the ground like a fifty pound bag of rice.

The Fed Ex lady was staring at me, yelling "You all right?"

Some twiggy little trophy wives out for a stroll were giggling.  The dog looked like he expected the world to cave in on him, and I tried to jump to my feet with as much dignity as I could muster.  My knee was scraped and bloody, but that was it.  I tried to be as cool as possible as I walked away...

...until the Fed Ex lady pulled up, beeped the horn, and yelled "Your cell phone and your keys are laying on the sidewalk back there!"

Doh!  Self-respect elimination, complete...your work here is done, Murphy.

"Leftovers"

I'm still adjusting to it being spring, with the snow melted and all that.  Now I can ride my bike to the gym, or run if I wish.  Today I rode my bike, as I had already been out for a long walk with the dog.

So I arrived a the gym and my work-out went really smoothly.  I was able to put a lot of explosive power into each lift, and really get the muscles burning.  Sometimes I arrive with a sort of lackluster energy level, and can't really shake it.  Not today.  The muscles were really happy to work, and the burn felt GOOD!  In fact, I was completely wrecked by the time I finished my stretches.  I was a big pile of goo, ready to go out and get in my car and drive home for a soak and additional stretching in the neighbor's hot-tub (whish we have a standing invitation to use any time we want to, as it is out-of-doors and they're really nice people).

Yep, I'd managed to put everything I had into my work-out, and I felt really good about it.  I hadn't held anything back...

...and then I opened the locker and saw the bike helmet there.

Crap.

It was only a mile-and-a-half home, and surprisingly,even though I thought I had nothing left...I made it back.

 

 

"I juggle my family" (ten brownie points the the person who gets that referance.  Hint: it is said with a crap Russian accent)

Two of my favorite machines are the hip abductor and hip adductor machines.  I like to work on explosive power on these machines, keeping the weight down somewhat, and just working on maintaining a fast and powerful, but controlled contraction through the full range of motion.  I've found that this has really helped those muscles relax later, when I stretch them, and has helped my flexibility as well as the speed of my kicks.  These muscles take a lot of abuse in the martial arts, and isolating them for a little intense, focused work makes them feel really good.

I do 145 lbs on each machine  (these machines work both legs at the same time, so it isn't as much as it sounds).

Anyway, I got on the hip abductor the other day, and the weight was set to ninety lbs.  I didn't think anything of it, there are a lot of little old ladies at the gym that time of day, and tiny little trophy wives.  They use the weight machines, but can't lift very much weight (I routinely find the bench press at 50 lbs).

I rapped off my first set of twenty, and then paused before doing the second set, and realized that the lady on the hip adductor machine next to me was openly staring at me.

I wondered for a minute if there was a green, slobbering space monster behind me or something, but then I realized that the lady had the machine set to 90 LBS.  I smiled.  She smiled back uncertainly, and then began painfully struggling through another set.

I blew through my second set, and went on to the glute machine to wait for her to be done with the one she was on.

The moral of the story is, apparently, I am very scary to suburban housewives.

 

"Dirty old men...kind of".

There's this little old lady that I see at the gym sometimes.  I'll call her "Carmen".  She's in her late '60's and she's just the cutest thing.  she wears a pink Nike track suit, and she works out everyday at about the same time.  I always enjoy seeing her there, because she's friendly, but I must admit that I get some entertainment at her expense sometimes.

I'm not proud of it, but I think you'll forgive me when I tell you why.

Carmen has replaced much of the subcutaneous fat that we all have when we are younger with a nice layer of muscle.  She does a lot of shaping and toning exercises, so that her posture and shape is that of a much younger woman...

...and hence the humor

You will see her working out, and every once in a while you will see an older man here or there who has not encountered Carmen yet, and he will be checking out her butt.

Then, he suddenly realizes that he is checking out the butt of a woman he must imagine is decades younger than himself, and he looks chagrined.  Then, he gets a look a Carmen's face and realizes that under that dyed red hair is the face of someone more his age, and then he gets a different expression a "I was checking THAT out?!?" expression...and then he realizes that the old lady he finds so unattractive is his own age, and he gets another facial expression, which is best described as deflated.

 

Had a great time at Kung Fu today.  One of the other second degree black belts and I mixed it up with some old-school grappling/strikeing/take-down/groundwork stuff.  It was fun.

I got to show off the superior core-lower-body strength of women fighters.  Men like to think that they have the upper-hand because of superior upper-body strength, but in the end, all that does is put you at risk for letting yourself get put off balance.  Don't get me wrong, upper-body strength is great for climbing trees and chucking spears and stuff, but when it comes to throwing your opponant over your hip, I'll take a nice, low, girlie center of gravity any day. 

I also got to show how rabbit punches (sorry, meant rapid punches.)to the body, comined with knees to the solar plexus and elbows to the jaw can short-circuit a lot of standard wrestling moves.

And yes, I pretty much got powned after my opponant drove his shoulder into my chest, and knocked me into the wall. I wasn't even thinking when he went to back off and I put him into an elbow lock, but I didn't hit him.

Normally, I hold back quite a bit because I am sparring lower-ranked people and it is my responsibility to make sure that neither of us gets injured, and to make sure that they improve and learn.

What's great about this, though is that even thought it LOOKED like we should have been completely wrecked after the fight (knees to the solar plexus, elbows to the jaw, trips, throws, etc. - neither one of us had even a minor injury.

I get more bruises from a tepid sparring match with an intermediate student. 

I got rocked pretty good when my break-fall didn't completly keep my head from hitting the ground after a leg-trap-take-down, but it cleared right away.  No worries. 

 I'm happy endorphine girl now.  It's been a while since baby's been able to play.

 

I taught Kung Fu for seven hours straight today.  After about four hours, I stopped doing everything my students did, but I still had to do almost constant demos to help them.

When I am demo-ing for students, I like to model perfect form and explosive power.  Sometimes, when I am just refershing their memory, I will be more relaxed, and not go deep into the stances, or preform the moves with full power.  However, the first time I teach them the moves, and any time I am critiquing their technique, I like to put everything into being the best example I can be.

I am completely exhausted right now.  It hurts to sit in any one position for too long, or even to lay down in one position too long.  Every part of my body seems over-sensitive.

Legend has it that the monks used to train to exhaustion...to the point where they collapsed.

Well, I wasn't quite there, but I WILL say that I think I will go and hang out in the steam shower for a little while now...thanks.  Do some Yoga in a 115 degree, steam-filled room and hopefully I will be able to go and train tomorrow.

I'm too old for this shit. 

"Don’t worry, this isn’t feel good new age spirituality, it is simple mind-body connection."

I mean, I'm not trying to dis the usefulness of visualization...'cause it CAN BE helpful for certain kinds of people, and practice can make you more effective at helpful visualisation.

Somehow, merely being useful rescues the concept of "mind-body connection" from the New Age label, I guess.

And through a doctor's guidence I used "biofeedback" to short-circuit panic attacks...I suppose 'cause it seemed to work in my case that makes it not "altie woo-woo medicine" even though it can't be scientifically verified to be effective across a random sample of the population?

So I wrote an e-mail to my friend, Mike, who I took over the Kung Fu classes for.  I was asking him for some information, and then told him that I thought the classes were going well, with the exception that I felt like the kids were still looking at me like I was from another planet, so I must do things very differently from him.

He just responded.  Among other things, he says: "They are probably looking at you like you are from anothere planet because you are really weird, and probably have booger or something hanging out of your nose."

mutter mumble grumble.

For those of you who have been wondering if the world opened up under my feet and swallowed me whole, or if the ferocious Neo-Nazi home-decorator squad came and got me, none of the above.

I've been cutting up deer, organizing my house, cutting up piles and piles of undonatable junk clothing into quilting squares, and trying to rid the yard of fall leaves.

Also, I've been volunteering as an ESL tutor.  So far, I've been teaching a Somali woman and a Ukranian man.  I highly recommend doing ESL tutoring for anyone who thinks that immigrants are just lazy slugs coming here to drain our society.  You wouldn't believe how hard-working and appreciative they are.  They are America's greatest fans, happy to be here, and looking forward to forging a great future in the "land of opportunity".  Programs can always use more tutors.

Oh yeah, and they've added three Kung Fu classes to my teaching schedule.  I've got my two special needs classes, two classes for typical children, and an adult class.  One of my classes has 20 students!  I might have a co-teacher as soon as one of the other second degree black belts returns from hernia surgery...but I don't know.  I might be on my own from now on!

Needless to say, time has been a little tight, but this Kung Fu teaching is starting to look more and more like a job than a marginally profitable hobby.

Home Front 1 Allergies:  No reaction to the allergy injections, beyond the expected swelling and rash at the injection site.  I’m told that I must do a peak-flow test every time I come in to get the injections (every 3-10 days – 7 being optimal).  I’ll need to come in that frequently for about 6 months, until I reach my maintenance level.  Then, it will be roughly every 28 days.  As an aside, my peak flow measurement is still 600, despite the fact that I have not been running or training with nearly the vigor I usually do for quite some time now.  Not bad for an asthmatic, eh?

 

Home Front 2  Kung Fu:  I’ve been given three more classes to teach.  The classes previously belonged to my friend, and Kung Fu “brother”, Mike.  He’s found a new job that will require him to travel, and he has to give up his classes.  I now have three classes with typical students in addition to my two classes with special needs students.  Mike is a very good teacher, and his students have a very high level of achievement over-all.  As far as I can tell, there are no super-stars, but all of his students perform at a high level.  The highest rank in his class is 3rd yellow.  The classes are fairly homogeneous as far as rank goes, so I don’t have to worry about teaching to all different levels at once.  A real load off my mind!  Still, I am going to have to work very hard to keep the level of instruction as high as Mike has set the bar!  A little daunting.

 

Home Front 3:  I think Rocky’s coming down with the flu.

Home front 4:  Rocky’s brother and his family is staying with us this weekend.  A happy,  bustling household.  The kids are thrilled to see their cousins.

Home Front 5:  Grasshopper has a cello recital today at 3:30 in Minneapolis, and I have to judge a Kung Fu contest in Hopkins.  Rocky is speaking at a Code Camp in Bloomington, and Adventure Boy is going to be the only one who stays put in the house today.  Yet, there will always be several people home.  Weird.

So now Oprah has been diagnosed with Hypothyroidism.

Here’s the Wikipedia page for hypothyroidism.

I feel bad for her, I really do.  I know what this condition does to a person, and I know how it feels to have it go undiagnosed.  Depression, fatigue, a sense of impending mental break-down or dissipation.  I remember with horror the inability to focus thoughts, inability to discipline oneself.

I understand how much willpower it takes to drag your body out of bed and meet the demands of the day, force yourself against the screaming drag of your own body to force yourself to exercise…only to gain weight.

No amount of make-up can hide the bad skin, no amount of careful self-maintenance can get rid of the blue bags under the eyes, the dullness of the hair.

“You look tired” gets to be like a mantra chanted by everyone you meet.  Sometimes with sympathy or concern, more often with a bit of the gloat behind it.  What they really mean is “You’ve really let yourself go”.

Going to the doctor to find out what’s wrong, you’re told the only prescription you need is more self-discipline and will-power.

Even the Oprah show, which made its name singing the praise of persevering in the face of insurmountable problems manages to slap you in the face, when Dr. Phil says “You’re not fat because of your thyroid.  That’s just an excuse.”

I actually went to the website and left a comment.   I said it was irresponsible for Dr. Phil to say something like that.  I went back later to see if there had been any response to my comment, and I couldn’t find it anywhere.  I assumed it had been deleted.

 I had gone for years with an undiagnosed thyroid problem because of just such a response from a Doctor, who refused to administer a simple blood test, despite the fact that I have a family history of low thyroid, and all the symptoms.  And I DO mean all of them.  The CNP who eventually ran the test said that I was in s life-threatening situation, and not just because of the suicidal thoughts.

But this doctor just gave me the smug look, and the condescending encouragement to do more push-ups…push up from the table.  He actually SAID that.

Normally, I would have stormed out of his office and went to find a doctor who would run the test.  Unfortunately, depression and fatigue caused me to simply shut down in shame and never mention it again…until my friend Sue kicked my ass and told me that she didn’t know what was wrong with me, but I’d better figure it out soon, because she didn’t like who I had become, and she wanted her friend back.

I’m sorry for Oprah that she has to go through this.  But I’m glad that finally, she might address this really important subject, and empower women with knowledge and encouragement to speak up for themselves and demand to be tested if they suspect they have a thyroid problem.

Thyroid disorders require constant maintenance.  I recently went in for my annual test, and found that I might have to have my dosage upped again.  Not a big surprise.  I’ve gained weight, and I’m tired and cranky when normally I would be chipper and happy.    I’ve been unable to focus at my usual level in normal times, and become downright useless in times of stress.  Things that were once easy, have become difficult.  I’m confused, forgetful, and sad.

But I’m going to get a second test done, and it’s likely that a simple dosage adjustment will fix the problem.  It’s such a simple solution.  All you need is the knowledge of what your condition is, and the support of knowledgeable people to help you treat it appropriately.

In a couple of weeks, my friend and Kung Fu "brother", Chris, will be heading for Iraq.

For those of you who weren't here for my Black-belt saga, Chris is the really big guy who gave me the merciless "beat down" for my sparring match at the end of my test.  Exhausted, sore, mentally and physically drained, I had to go three minutes non-stop fighting this guy who probably outweighs me by close to 100 LBS and is a good eight inches taller than me...and who does 150 mile bike races for "fun" and charity.

I could hardly lift my hands above my waist, but Chris came at me like a freightrain, and got the adrenaline going so I could not only lift my hands, but hit him hard enough to spin his head-gear around sideways once, and cave his belly in enough to make him give out a "whoofing" noise.

I don't really remember much of that fight (I was somewhere else in my head, cross-country skiing), but suffice it to say that it had the "buddy-cop" effect.

Chris is kind, good-natured, competative and generous.  He's a good man, and a good friend.  We'll all miss him, as will his wife and his German Shephard, Axel.

Good luck, Chris, keep yer head down, and thanks for serving.

I ran a mile today as a warm-up for sparring class.  I was able to breath the entire time! (and for the eight laps up and down three flights of stairs.)

If these new meds keep working, who knows, I might be up to try a half-marathon by the end of the season.  No marathons for me, though.  I need more speed if I'm going to try that.  I can't run for five hours straight.  I'm not like the man who runs all day.

“There he is”, I say.

Grasshopper nods, “Yep.  The man who runs all day.”

 

The sixty-something  guy chugs past us, oblivious as always, with his headphones playing whatever sixty-something men listen to when they run.  He’s wearing his usual spring get-up of gym shorts and a commemorative tee-shirt from some run or another.  In the winter he is in a heavy track suit, hat and scarf.  I don’t know if he has special shoes to handle the ice or not.

I don’t think it’s ageist of me to worry about him slipping on the ice and breaking a hip.  I worry about that for myself, and I’m not even forty yet.

Anyway, every day we are out waiting for the bus, rain or shine, summer or winter, wrath of the great old ones or thankfully pre-apocalyptic, he chugs past us.  As reliable as a Maytag is reputed to be.

We call him “the man who runs all day” because one day Grasshopper and I were out running errands on a weekday.  It was one of those blessed no-school days, yet we were up and about at bus time (8:00AM), ready to begin the day.  The running man was there, on schedule.  We waved at him as he passed in front of us.  He chugged on, oblivious.

We passed him on our way to the mall to pick up some things at Target, drop some stuff off at the dry cleaners, buy some things the dog needed, get the oil changed in the van.  We had lunch at the mall, splitting a plate of Chinese food from the food court.

I decide to take the alternate route home, and there he is, the running guy.  It’s after one in the afternoon, and there he is…still running.  His knobby gnarled calves churning away at the pavement like pistons in an engine…persistant, mechanical, seemingly effortless precision.

Two hours later, I have to take grasshopper to an appointment.  There’s the running guy, strolling along on his way back towards our house, not looking the least bit fatigued.  Back straight, slightly paunchy belly moving in a barely perceptible fashion with his easy breathing, bald head not particularly gleamy.

And that’s why we call him the man who runs all day.  Because “The man who runs 2/3 of the day” doesn’t have quite the same ring to it.

Grasshopper and one of his best friends (S-dogg)got into a knock-down fight at Kung Fu yesterday.

Apparently, S-dogg punched Grasshopper in the throat (not a legitamate target), AND hit him a little harder than the "light touch" that they were instructed to use.

So Grasshopper punched back really hard.  They then attacked each other full force, and fell to the ground, whereupon ShiFu broke them up.

I arrived shortly after, and they were not speaking.  As we walked out to the car, I told them a little story about a similar thing happening with me and a friend of mine in the Karate school.  I tried to make it funny and instill in them the idea that one day they would laugh together about this.

By the time I dropped S-dogg off at his house, they were laughing and sharing snacks.

Isn't that just like boys?  All-in with the fight, and then totally over it when it's over.

 

So, I went to the allergist today.  Three bouts with bronchitis in a row, plus endless breathing problems before that, and I'm done.  I don't care what it takes, just break out those needles and FIX ME!!!

For those who don't know, they draw a huge grid on your back, and poke you with some sharp peices of plastic containing concentrations of allergens.

You also get two controls:  one is a non-reactive substance (I assume Saline or something equivilent) and the other is Histamine, the chemical that is produced by the body's attack on the allergins, and which causes the allergy symptoms.

My reaction to the non-reactant control was the expected - and my reaction to the Histamine was the expected ++++

This gives you the range from no reaction (-) to the Histamine reaction (++++) (a scale of 0-4, basically).

Here are my test results:                                                                                         Mold Spores:

Paper Birch                    ++++               Short Ragweed         ++++                        Alternaria                 -

Boxelder/Maple Mix          ++++               Giant Ragweed         ++++                        Cladosporium             +

Mulberry                        ++++               Marshelder              ++++                        Epicoccum                 +

Red Oak                        ++++               Sagebrush Mix          ++++                        Helminthosporium        +

White Ash                      ++++               Russian Thistle         ++++                        Aspergillus fumigatus   +

Shagbark Hickory            ++++                Careless - Pigweed   ++++                         Pullularia                    +

American Elm                  ++++                                                                           Fusarium                    +

Kentucky Blue Grass         ++++                                                                           Penicillium                  +

Timothy Grass                 ++++                                                                           Phoma                       +

Dustmite (D. Farinae)        -                                                                                 Rhizopus                    ++

Dustmite (D. Pteronyssinus)   +++

Cat                                    ++++

Dog                                    +++

Cockroach                           -

 

My allergist, who seems to have a gift for understatment, said "You are a candidate for shots."   

No wonder I have been having a hard time running.  I'm allergic to the whole darned out-of-doors!  (And the in-of-doors too!)

One up-note...my peak-flow reading in the middle of an asthma attack was 490...a good score for a normal, healthy adult woman.

Another up-note is that I CAN get shots, and don't have to sell the dog and buy pet cockroaches.  LOL!  Although those Madagascar Hissing Cockroaches are pretty cool.

 

Sparring with REALLY strong guy yesterday.  He was acquiring some new skills that involved finesse.  Acquiring new skills often means a temporary decrease in control and focus expressed in the older skills.

As the swelling goes down,the bruises are beginning to appear.

Today was the last day of the term for my Wednesday class.  I am always sad to see the end of our six-week terms.  Mostly because in the past, there has been a two-month –long hiatus, and in the mean-time my families get busy with other stuff and don’t come back.

(For those of you who don’t know, I teach two Kung Fu classes for special needs kids.  I told my SiFu a while ago that this was one of my goals, so he found some classes for me to teach.)

This time, there is only one month between terms, and they handed out registration forms right in the class.  All of the parents swore they would be back.  I’ve heard that before.  In all this time, I’ve only had one family return…but hopefully we will keep the terms going back-to-back in the future and get better retention.

I’ve got to tell you about one of the kids, though.  I’ll call him Sport.  He walked in the very first day, chest puffed out, head up, looking around the room as he crossed it with a confident stride. 

“I’m going to like this class.  I’m going to be really good at it.  I can tell.  This is going to be great.”

Sport started and ended every one of the six classes we had with that attitude.  Shouting “Look at me, I’m doing this really good!”  When I have them do a stretch, and tell them where they should feel it, Sport always declares “I feel it!  I’m feeling the stretch!”  So excited.

Sport has serious problems with balance, and his muscles are as tight as a tow strap trying to pull a Hummer up a hill out of a foot of clay mud.

His greatest asset is his attitude, which never seems to tire or disappear.  He shows up on time, every week, striding confidently into the room, squinting through his glasses with the one eye that isn’t covered with an eye patch, 1000-kilowat grin on his face, and a story about whatever great exploit he accomplished today.

Today I presented him with his certificate of achievement and a little medal on a red-white-and-blue ribbon.  He put it around his neck, grabbed his dad by the hand and said “I’m going to wear this to bed tonight.” As he walked out the door.

I wonder if he’ll come back, I wonder if I was able to help him at all in the six short weeks I had with him.

Whatever the outcome for me, I imagine Sport will have few problems ahead in life despite his difficulties.  I have a feeling that even if he doesn’t walk back through that door, I’m going to be hearing about him again.

I am twice deadly now!  I passed the final portion of my second degree black belt qualification.

I'm a 2nd degree black belt.

Sweet.

Oh!  and I've joined the 21st century and got a cell phone.  A present from Rocky on our anniversary.

Alright, I'm going to go do some more painting on Grasshoppers bedroom walls.  Almost done.  I'm painting two of his walls camoflage, which is a pita...but that's what he wants.

Fun fun fun.

After a few weeks of stress and family problems, and stress and home improvement woes, and the good (but still stressful) stress of a long string of many out-of-town guests, and the allergies (from the dust stirred up by home improvement) and the cold, and the bronchitis...

...I returned to Kung Fu on Sunday.  Of the three hours of intense training I usually do, I made it almost 1 and 1/2.

My ab muscles feel like someone is taking a rake to them.

Today, all I managed to do was take the dog for a walk.

Somebody call the whahmbulance.

Regaining lost fitness levels is the suck.

So, I passed everything except the Tai Chi portion of my second degree black belt test.

Apparently, getting your head bounced off the floor a couple of times can cause you to lose focus and have a hard time remembering your moves smoothly.

So.  In two months, I will be able to take that portion of the test again, and I will get my second degree Black belt!  Yeay!

In the mean time, I'm going to go lay down on a heating pad.  My neck is killing me, and my head doesn't feel too good.

Avindair and Geekgoddess, thanks for inviting me to the birthday party.  I had a good time, and thanks for worrying about me, although as you can see, it was unecessary.

If they can make more money giving us what we think we want, rather than what we need, they will. Whose fault is that? And if we could stop it, but we like the pay-offs...once again, whose fault is that?

At least, more than I used to be able to...

Last installment. I promise. Unless something remarkable happens.

Dream a little dream. A little full-on tehnicolor surroundsound lucid dream.

Active meditation: don't sweat the small stuff.

Or, "yep, let's break open that can of worms"

I burned 1,011 calories on the elliptical jogger today  65 minutes...went a little over seven miles.

Then I came home and did a little cleaning, made dinner, and scooted off to Yoga.

Endorphins are good.

 

No doubt about it. Booga Booga Booga.

With apologies to Ms. Sally Feild

I can't wait to hear what they say about Tantric Sex. There HAVE to be some Christian articles out there about tantric sex. I bet they're pretty exceiting, too.

There's a fishtank metaphor. I'd wait for a moment when you have nothing really important or pressing to do. Really.

I'm not sure I did the meditation correctly.

I'm making an attempt at humility.

No really, it's about miracles. and it's not mean, sarcastic, or bombastic. In fact, if you didn't know better, you might think that Sue wrote it..but she didn't. It's all me, baby.