Wednesday, July 20, 2005
Hungry already
Starving myself today. I'm on a clear liquid diet (except for that breakfast of shepherd's pie) all day, and at 6pm have to consume a gallon's worth of lovely laxative, intended to thoroughly irrigate my system, because tomorrow I have a hot date with Mr. Butt-doctor and his trusty sidekick, Li'l butt-scope. Purely prophylactic, of course; they want to make sure my colon is golden before I go ravage it with bowel-blasting Sichuan spices and traditional Tibetan roughage. Plus whatever it is they eat in Egypt. But I'm writing this now because later on in the day I'm going to be mighty cranky. Good thing netflix came today. Ran, the Kurosawa samurai-King Lear epic, and its equally epic cousin, Independence Day. Should keep me pacified. What worries me is ever since I started Tae Kwon Do, burning all these calories and doing all this cardiovascular work, I've been ravenously hungry all the time. This is not going to end well.
Tomorrow evening or whenever I wake up from the general anaesthetic and feel well enough to move, Andrew Naughton, Mike, Sadie and I are heading up to Montreal. Just because. Be back Sunday night.
Tomorrow evening or whenever I wake up from the general anaesthetic and feel well enough to move, Andrew Naughton, Mike, Sadie and I are heading up to Montreal. Just because. Be back Sunday night.
Monday, July 18, 2005
The endorphins, sweet my God, the endorphins
So maybe if I'd paid more attention in biology, I'd have thought of it sooner. I leave every tae kwon do class, however wrecked I am, utterly buoyant. Today I'm still quite full of vigor; the class was not as thrashing as it can sometimes be. If I weren't working, I'd go back for another. Tomorrow I certainly will, possibly for three (starting sparring drills tomorrow). They're right, it is addictive. It's just such a high.
Yet I feel rather guilty: today, the teacher had to explain to the class that I'd come from dance (the fact that I quit dancing two years ago notwithstanding), which was why I'd come in with all this extension, flexibility, leap, speed, etc. I started hot out of the gate and smoked the other beginners (actually taught someone else a combination today, though it was the only one I know). I'm not crowing, I honestly feel bad. One of the guys, the senior member today (both in age and in belt), a 62 year-old named Larry, has been at it three years, and can't help comparing himself to other students. I don't think having me next to him is the most pleasant thing in the world, so I have to treat Larry, and everyone else, with absolute respect. The class is becoming a serious lesson in deference and respect. I have to check arrogance at the door (alas!), leaving only whatever little confidence I've come by honestly. It's crazy, but it just might work. I love it, I just fucking love it. Even dancing never felt so good. You want to talk stressbuster? Toppling those massive bags with a cannon-like side kick, oh man. Nothing like it. Except maybe toppling someone else. We'll work on that. Plus I think they have a two-week free trial deal for students' friends.
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Last night deader than a cemetery at work. Did a double, as one does on sunday, from 10:30am till 11pm. Made bupkes. Between about 2pm and 3pm, we actually took turns catnapping on the stairs. So bored, felt as if all the fluid was being slowly syringed out of my brain. Did get to watch Al Leiter and the Yankees FUCKING TRASH Wakefield's knuckleball and the Po' Sox. That was worth it. And the Mets stomped the Braves. And Columbia schooled Mexico, for which the kitchen emptied, and then they were surly the rest of the day. Messrs. Naughton, Pareles and--oh, shit, how do you spell his last name? Pederacki? Geoff, in any case--came in, and had the patience to stay through close, whereupon we adjourned to Radio Perfecto for a nightcap. Very nice. Must dash. The ironing board is a harsh mistress.
Yet I feel rather guilty: today, the teacher had to explain to the class that I'd come from dance (the fact that I quit dancing two years ago notwithstanding), which was why I'd come in with all this extension, flexibility, leap, speed, etc. I started hot out of the gate and smoked the other beginners (actually taught someone else a combination today, though it was the only one I know). I'm not crowing, I honestly feel bad. One of the guys, the senior member today (both in age and in belt), a 62 year-old named Larry, has been at it three years, and can't help comparing himself to other students. I don't think having me next to him is the most pleasant thing in the world, so I have to treat Larry, and everyone else, with absolute respect. The class is becoming a serious lesson in deference and respect. I have to check arrogance at the door (alas!), leaving only whatever little confidence I've come by honestly. It's crazy, but it just might work. I love it, I just fucking love it. Even dancing never felt so good. You want to talk stressbuster? Toppling those massive bags with a cannon-like side kick, oh man. Nothing like it. Except maybe toppling someone else. We'll work on that. Plus I think they have a two-week free trial deal for students' friends.
<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>
Last night deader than a cemetery at work. Did a double, as one does on sunday, from 10:30am till 11pm. Made bupkes. Between about 2pm and 3pm, we actually took turns catnapping on the stairs. So bored, felt as if all the fluid was being slowly syringed out of my brain. Did get to watch Al Leiter and the Yankees FUCKING TRASH Wakefield's knuckleball and the Po' Sox. That was worth it. And the Mets stomped the Braves. And Columbia schooled Mexico, for which the kitchen emptied, and then they were surly the rest of the day. Messrs. Naughton, Pareles and--oh, shit, how do you spell his last name? Pederacki? Geoff, in any case--came in, and had the patience to stay through close, whereupon we adjourned to Radio Perfecto for a nightcap. Very nice. Must dash. The ironing board is a harsh mistress.
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