I've managed to heal up after last week's rather pitiable mishap with an extra Thursday night class; my quads have returned from union break and my hamstrings, while grumpy, have indicated a willingness to play along for the time being.

I have a couple of hours left to decide if I want to attend tonight's class or not; like last week, I'm not sure it's a good idea, but I know that the extra midsection work wouldn't kill me.There are apparently two types of exercisers: the gregarious, and the lone wolves. The gregarious ones flounder when pointed to machines, alone; without others to push them, they fall. The lone wolves like their headphones and their solitude, and would rather battle a set of weights one-on-one than figure out what kind of chatter would be best to get through a class.

I'm the latter.

With twenty minutes left to go on the elliptical machine this morning, I knew without a shadow of a doubt that it was time for us to purchase a new mp3 player. Our current one, bought for $30 off of Heather some time ago, has developed the electrical equipment of Alzheimer's; it no longer remembers that it's supposed to play mp3s as well as audio CDs, and only plays audio CDs when it gets up on the right side of the bed that morning.

It's hard to justify saying "I won't go into the gym today because I'm in pain," when you know that, at that very moment, one of your friends is in labor at a nearby hospital. It tends to put your pain in a bit of perspective. Suffice it to say, Friday morning, I grabbed my gym equipment, coaxed myself into a standing position, and got myself to the gym.I've had to learn a good bit about quadriceps since Thursday night's gym class. Laura had encouraged me to try it, saying that she thought I was ready for it, but I wasn't entirely sure. Since the first few weeks had gone so well, I agreed. Why not see if I could add in something new and interesting to my routine?

As commanded, the Huntsville geeken shall do the dance of joy today: Elijah Clark Granade 7 lbs., 5 oz. Born oh, right around an hour ago - 8:13 a.m. Central time. No photos yet. Something about the parents wanting time to spend with their newfound kidlet before just handing him over to the local geeks. (Who knew?

According to today's measurements, we've seen progress. I received my periodic sniping from Laura-the-trainer today about my wanting to weigh myself once a week. Actually, come to think of it, I think I got a finger waggled at me. I haven't had that happen in a while.

So, as justification and completion of the half-torture, half-improvement that is this new exercise regimen, I've been poring over Misty's copy of Vegetarian Cooking For Everyone, and shaking my head at the amusement that inevitably follows.

If you ask me, I'll tell you that I'm not a picky eater. Really. As long as you don't try to feed me anything with cucumbers, that is.

Don't get me started on cucumbers. The smell: vile. The taste: vile. Texture? Vile. Net effect on salads? Vile. They have that nasty green skin, and ... ugh. Pickles are worse. Pickles are an abomination not to be tolerated on this planet. As someone who lives with me can attest, I may not like the smell of cucumbers, but the smell of pickles can make me flee a room.

See, I told you not to get me started on cucumbers. Nothing good comes of it!