Friday, December 03, 2004
ROAR!
Well, I'm feeling a little more ROAR these days.
What does this mean? It's hard to explain really. It's partly the feeling of having some muscle on my "tiny frame" (Mel's words, not mine) for the first time in ages, and partly the knowledge that I can run pretty adequately for the bus now without getting all out-of-breath and impending- heart-attack-like. It's partly having my new pal Ren from the gym (40s, gay, sweetest guy I've met in ages) compliment my push-up form, and knowing that since he goes to the gyme about ten times a week he's probably not just flattering me.
It's partly knowing that despite the many times that the Boy has to deal with my discouragement, the pain and work is actually going somewhere, finally!
And believe me, there is pain. Went on the treadmill today after a boring-ass class on the Maltese Falcon (Dashiell Hammett for all you non-English-nerds and non-detective-fiction-buffs) and an even boringer-ass (definitely making up words here) movie version of said book, starring the very unhandsome and generally icky, shitty excuse for an actor Humphrey Bogart. Now I understand why in the 40s and 50s, Paul Newman and Marlon Brando were considered hot stuff. Because they were. As was Clark Gable and many others. I'd let them smoke in my house anyday (as long as I was getting some). But Humphrey Bogart was a wizened, ugly, pug-faced little twit who couldn't act his way out of a paper bag. He was about as hard-boiled as a souffle. And I find him about as attractive as one. Give me a real, hyper-masculine, probably gay underneath it all actor to play Sam Spade. Not some fucking poor excuse for a 30s movie star.
Ahem. Yes. But back to the treadmill. After watching H.B. for a very long hour or so, munching on some trail mix the prof had brought (nice guy this one, and cute too!) I walked out in the middle of the film and hit the gyme, running into a semi-well-known Canadian politician on the way. But that's another story altogether.
Ran on the treadmill for 20 minutes, at 5.6 miles per hour. After an hour with an engineering student and several senior science students, trying to figure out how fast or slow that really is, I gave up. Suffice it to say that it felt fast to me. Especially when I remembered I had broken one of Mel's sacred commandments: thou shalt not eat for at least an hour before working out. Damn. I finished the last ten minutes on sheer will, stitches on both sides and my stomach crying out for mercy. I didn't listen to it, and I finished. Score one for team Nome. And no puking even!
....notice the smooth as a baby's bottom change of subject...
Went out for sushi with the cheerleaders, who are off to Nationals this weekend ("you mean there are going to be people cheering...for cheerleaders?"). Lots of people I hadn't actually met before were there, plus Kun and Ruh, who I knew already. Ruh's this hyperactive, very cute, very sweet girl on the team, with a German boy and TONS 'o energy. Not to mention a pretty naughty side. She also eats anything and everything and remains skinny as a little rail. But I can't be jealous of her because she's so goofy and so much fun. I finally told Ruh and Kun them that I was planning to try out for the team in January, and they went nuts! Ruh insisted she was going to put me up in a chair (this is basically where someone puts their hands on your butt and lifts you in the air. I'll find a picture of it at some point) to which I replied "GOOD LUCK with that!" She did not seem at all deterred. There was much squealing and yelling of "awesome!" It was, by FAR, the best reaction I have gotten from anyone on the subject.
My vigor is somewhat renewed, even though I just found out I have to do tricep push-ups for tryouts instead of regular ones. That is not fun.
Shit it is way too late and I am way too awake. I place the blame entirely on chocolate-covered coffee beans.
Oh, the politician I ran into today was Jack Layton. You may remember him from such parties as the NDP, and from such comments as "Mr. Bush, Canadians don't want your missile-defense program. Nor do we want anything to do with any of your weapons." Or so he told me as he was frantically spinning on the stationary bike when I saw him at the gyme. I admired his chutzpah. I admire him as much as I can admire a politician these days.
To bed, to bed!
-N
