workouts

You know how, every now and then, you have the need to say something without flowery language, without pretense, because what you have to say doesn’t need any dressing-up?

Yeah. Forty-five minutes at level eight, biznitches. (If you said “huh?” then read this entry for the explanation.)

One more level to go and then I will—finally—be back to my pre-pneumonia fitness level.

Whatcha wanna guess I want for my birthday? Admittedly, that’s two days from now, but you know what? I think I might just have to go for it.

The last few days before a major trip are always incredibly hectic. The trips to the store are for items more and more random, the to-do list goes from general (make list of spices to take) to painfully specific (pick up the air mattress from Stephen because you forgot it today you nimwit). In the end I just want to whisper,
“are we there yet?”

Nope.

If you were me, and were battling a truly nasty cold, and had just taken a swath of decongestants and other meds that you knew would make you fall asleep within the next half-hour, what would you say?

Let’s find out. In totally random order.

Suddenly I have a plethora of good news and I hardly know where to begin. It's such a rare and lovely situation; forgive me for wanting to sit back and sip it slowly, single-malt style.

The good news is that I have a trainer again. The better news is that it's the trainer I've wanted all along: yes, I'm working with Val again. Her life has calmed down enough that she has time to add back a few clients, and that calmness coincided with my decision to toss her a why-not email to see if maybe she'd still have time for me.

I had begun laying groundwork to work with someone else and I realized that the 'fit' just wasn't there. I understood Val's methods, and agreed with them, and I just didn't want to work with anyone else.

We met yesterday, and a day later I'm still turning over the new numbers in my head. It's a lot to think about.

Amazing. About a week before Christmas, suddenly the suburban population of Huntsville wakes up and says, collectively, “Holy shit, Christmas is next weekend?

Lately it’s been just - quiet.

I’m okay with that, I think; we’ve gotten past the rumble and bluster of dragon*con and birthday season, and suddenly here we are staring another set of holidays square in the face. The trees turn slower here than they do in Colorado; the deciduous trees of north Alabama are just now starting to color, and are nowhere near the yellow blaze of aspen that decorated every Colorado street corner in September.