Howdy world. No nature pix today. Only half-baked ruminations, and some pretty sore muscles. Yesterday’s masochistic adventure at the gym was quite successful. It was the second Tough Mudder prep class I’ve been to. This time, it consisted of three rounds of 13 exercises, each done for a minute at a time, with a 30 second rest break between each one. None of the exercises were difficult in and of themselves – I mean, jumping rope? hopping up and down off a 20” high surface? baaagh. But add them all up, toss in some screamingly loud music, factor in watching some lady who’s clearly 15 years older than you easily deadlifting a million pounds, and watch your adrenaline spike off the charts. Midway through the second round I was saying to myself, “self, I am done after this round.” And then I watched a teensy girly girl flipping the four-hundred pound truck tire over by herself. Dammit. In for a penny, in for a pound. I’ve never come so close to puking during a workout.
As is true of so much in life, it turns out that everyone else in the class had also been contemplating hurling and/or quitting early too, but together, we all either shamed or inspired each other to keep going. Competition! Teamwork! One of ‘em ought to do the trick.
Apparently, this is what I do for fun. Maybe I’m doing this because this is the one arena in my life right now where I am setting big goals. The rest of my life is all organic, let-it-unfold, loosy-goosy flow.
Like today. Monday. Monday is Be Nice to People Day, the day I head over to the chemo unit to give Reiki to patients and their families. As I staggered (sore glutes, people) down the utility corridor I use to get to the unit, I came across the two motivational posters, positioned right next to each other, that crack me up every single time I walk by them.
Brought to you by the Department of Irony.