Worked to Death

Get Thee to a Nunnery

I think I understand the idea behind monasteries. People who have given up on having pleasures of the flesh - like good friends and good food - sit in the boredom that they would otherwise sit in, without the distractions of possibilities. Of options. They stop fooling themselves that they might do something with someone, they cease pretending that they may find a friend or make some plans. They simply resign themselves to the steady monotony without pretense. There must be some comfort in that. Think of what might be accomplished - the self-improvement, the intellectual pursuits not thwarted by "Reality TV" or the interwebs' distractions. I think I know where I'll book in for my summer vacation.

No Need to Cry in Baseball

Our top story tonight - I am involved in baseball after all. Just not my own team. Little Mathew is a Brave and so - "uncle" that I am - I was up at 7am on a Saturday morning to go see his season opener. He is on a great team and did amazingly well. And he's old enough to lord over me how great a player he is and how he could probably beat an old man like me around the bases in a race. I replied that I could beat him in a car race, since he can't drive, and that seems to have shut him up. It was actually a very nice way to start the weekend - warm sunshine, fresh ocean air, loving children and family cheering on their star. He hit 3 for 4, made some good catches at first base, and some nice plays at short stop. At 7, he makes catching a line drive look easy. So yes, I'm jealous, but I'll probably keep going. As long as there aren't too many 9am games...

Worked to Death

I didn't mention last week that I hired a personal trainer. And then fired him. I went in wanting a workout that I could replicate on my own - some cardio, certain weight machines, that sort of thing. I was on a good streak - doing cardio 5 times a week and really getting focused. That softball thing motivated me to be ready for next season. And so I booked a session with a PT to see what he could set me up with. He ignored my desires - instead giving me a Pilates-inspired workout with giant rubber balls and using massage tables as a base, and squats with towels... all kinds of things I won't do on my own. On the one hand, he did push me to failure in my legs - big legs that I thought were strong but learned were pretty weak. On the other hand, he did nothing with my arms and chest which is what I care about. And he designed a workout that I can't do unless I rehire him at $70 an hour. Nice marketing. Then came the high-pressure sales-thing. He says he thinks his "boss" can give me a discount, so he brings her in. Nope. She can't. But let's book 8 sessions now anyway, at $70 a pop, can I bring in my check by Saturday? By Saturday I could barely walk. My legs were - well - tender, to say the least. And no, I didn't hire him for 8 more sessions in March. They can make up their PT numbers on someone else.
I think I'm switching to belly dancing anyway. This boy on the left, Steven Eggers is just beautiful. I think I'll get my future workouts watching him shake and shimmy all night long. That should be good for some cardio, no? They say he's the "prettiest boy in belly dancing" and I am tending to agree. Pretty pretty.