Your cocktail sir,





2002-01-31 - 7:46 a.m.

I have a new work out partner in my fitness class, a large beligerent farmer. He's a very nice man, shares all sorts of details about his life. His time in prison. His boy's time in prison. The boy actually is in the Prison Rodeo system, and so the boy's wife (it's always the boy, which is probably why he is doing 3 to 5 at San Quentin) and child are going to the Olympics to see some rodeo demonstration. It also seems that if only there had been a war when his kid was young, well, then, that might have straightened him out. It seems that all of my troubles (mainly being that I have the upper body strength of a three year old) could be solved by working on a farm. While this may in fact be true, he didn't get and/or like my joke about "Does that pay well? Because I'm interested in career options right now." I think he sensed my underlying sarcasm. So I am berrated at the arm machines, fearing that he'll pull a shiv to my throat and make me do one more set. It's motivational I suppose. I do get grudging respect at the leg machines however, since I can leg press more than anyone in the class. Not that it's saying much as I think I'm also the youngest person, with only 10% of us under 30. At least my ex-inmate of a partner is better than the previous one, a mousey woman who wore the same thing every time and kept telling me not to push it. Her idea of working out was similar to the Borg's call of Resistance is Futile. I don't think she'll get much out of it.

previous - next

Zen and don't cry out loud - 2007-07-29

Zen and the stumbling rocks of fitness - 2007-07-19

- - 2007-07-11

Zen and fasting - 2007-06-20

Zen and hiccups - 2007-06-18

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