Monday, February 6, 2012
Eye of the Tiger
The Squeeze and I beat the hell out of a bag at boxing tonight. I find it astounding how hard we push ourselves and each other. We slam into it, sweat drips on to the floorboards around us and there is the distinct echo of an odd grunt or groan.
At times, it is a little dangerous. A little danger occured tonight when the Squeeze's glove actually touched the tip of my nose... He seemed to think that had it connected fully, I'd have been lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling and not seeing anything.
I think it would have hurt like a bitch, I'd have seen red and probably shouted. He would have ran and I'd have hunted him down like a killing machine, through the equipment and then punched him out. I'm still awaiting the day when we can get into the ring and spar a little... Please God, let that day come soon...
When we got home, it took about two hours for my arms to stop feeling jittery, but I’m convinced that the idea of 'exercise equals happy endorphins', is spot on. We are smiling from the moment we get there until we wearily get in the front door; and even then we are still pretty damned smug.
It’s not all ‘eye of the tiger’ I have to say. Some of the time I pause to watch the super fit in awe at how fast they move. Some of them really do have that butterfly/bee thing going on. Sometimes we pause to discuss what colour t-shirt we should be buying; general consensus so far is grey. Why?
Well this is our thinking… If you wear white or black, people can see that your hair is dripping wet with sweat; they can probably even see rivulets rolling down the face and neck; but if we wear grey, they can see just how much we sweated and how hard we worked (some of the grey t-shirts in there are 80% dripping). And I guess this is important because compared to the ninety precent of hard, buff, speedy fighters that frequent our gym, we are old. And fat.
And we do work hard. Damned hard. Then we came home to the normality of dinner, tidying up, an episode of Revenge (I’m all for revenge although maybe she is taking it a little too far). Then the kid called to report on day two of school.
I didn’t hear much I have to say. I tuned out after “what the… Why were you late???” It is tune out or say something scathing in the background. And when all is said and done, really, what is the point? The Moodle won't call her and tell her to get her lazy arse out of bed and get that kid showered and to school on time. So why would I even bother?
Day 2 of a new school and she can’t get the kid to school before the bell.
What hope does this kid have?
Posted by Mistress at 10:25 PM