I was late to fighting class yesterday due to finishing my taxes. (I never do feel like I've done them right, even after literally googling revised statutes to try to figure out what on earth things mean. It's all so complicated, and written in such convoluted language that I want to shake someone and say, "We are not all accountants, people! Use English!" But, I finished them, such as they were, with only the bare minimum required amount of weeping and gnashing of teeth (the bare minimum is still significantly large), and I mailed them, at 5:50 pm. The last pick-up from the downtown post office in this I-no-longer-live-in-anything-resembling-a-city-curse-it-all is 6:00 pm. How I do miss trundling downtown in Gone West at 10:30 to catch the midnight pickup.)
I went to fighting class anyway, half an hour late, because 1. I might as well, and 2. kung fu is immediately afterward. I got there just in time to be changing in the bathroom as the class did the last 25 of their 100 push-ups. One of the two instructors is on a 100 push-ups per day binge. We did 100 push-ups during the advanced class last week, right before trying to throw people off of ourselves. My arms were a little shaky, and I almost dropped my partner on my head again, but I managed not to drop him, out of sheer willpower, mostly because I know how badly that hurts.
But, having escaped 100 push-ups yesterday, I somehow decided to do 100 push-ups today.
I have ten to go. Hold on.
Done.
Yeah, I don't know who I am anymore, either. I am reassured by the fact that my self-discipline to do anything exercise-like still comes and goes (mostly goes) and the days when I actually do working out that does not involve someone else correcting my stance are as few as they ever were. Probably fewer. So that's a relief.
I went to fighting class anyway, half an hour late, because 1. I might as well, and 2. kung fu is immediately afterward. I got there just in time to be changing in the bathroom as the class did the last 25 of their 100 push-ups. One of the two instructors is on a 100 push-ups per day binge. We did 100 push-ups during the advanced class last week, right before trying to throw people off of ourselves. My arms were a little shaky, and I almost dropped my partner on my head again, but I managed not to drop him, out of sheer willpower, mostly because I know how badly that hurts.
But, having escaped 100 push-ups yesterday, I somehow decided to do 100 push-ups today.
I have ten to go. Hold on.
Done.
Yeah, I don't know who I am anymore, either. I am reassured by the fact that my self-discipline to do anything exercise-like still comes and goes (mostly goes) and the days when I actually do working out that does not involve someone else correcting my stance are as few as they ever were. Probably fewer. So that's a relief.
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