Kicking Ass, Or Trying, Part II.
April 14th, 2008 by trancejen
So far I have been to four kickboxing classes, and what I have learned is that I am fat and out of shape.
Jesus, am I fat and out of shape.
The kickboxing instructor is a former drill sergeant. This guy is like Billy Blanks on ‘roids. He likes to yell, and he likes push-ups.
He does not believe in girl push-ups.
I believe in girl push-ups. Prior to taking this class, I had never done a single man’s push-up. This led to a lot of flopping on the floor on my part, a lot of screaming on his part, and maybe a little crying. I practiced and swore and practiced and swore, and I can now do five regular push-ups. I also have actual breast pain.
I am doing pretty well, actually. I’m sort of exhausted after class, which lasts an hour and leaves me gasping for breath, but considering the fact that I am a medical mess and have four slipped discs I think I’m performing admirably.
Speaking of the four slipped discs, I did inform the pain clinic doctor that I was taking this class and I believe his exact words were, “You are a bigger glutton for punishment than I thought.”
Oh, if you only knew, Doctor.
I got the results of my neck MRI and went over it with the doctor, and he said that I don’t need surgery at this point but that I probably will before I’m forty. The numbness in my hands is typical of people with neck problems, I guess, and I just have to watch out for decreased motor function. Like BAdd TyPiing. I kid. He also ordered an MRI of my lower back, which I am having tomorrow. Next week I am seeing the neuro, where we will go over my brain MRI.
All this MRIing has left me wondering, do people hurl in the MRI machine often? Because I occasionally have gotten a bitching migraine in that sucker, and I sometimes have come close.
That would indeed suck.
The J-Man is well and is admirably excited about his karate lessons. He comes home from class (we have the same instructor) and shows me all his sweet moves.
He also has a new girlfriend. With whom he speaks on the phone.
I am not ready for this development. I feel that I just got done with potty-training. I am still working on table manners (I will be working on table manners forever). Can we not go back to Dr. Seuss and stacking blocks? Because I am not ready for some little preteen girly girl calling here, asking for the J-Man. Is the J-Man home? No he is not, you sparkle-fingered, High School Muscial loving little hussy! Go do your homework and leave my precious baby alone!!
Growl. Rawr. Keep your paws off of my cub.
It’s so ridiculous, I know. I just loathe the idea of the ensuing preteen heartbreak. Oh, the drama! The angst! Still, it’s a rite we must all go through, and at least at nine it’s still harmless.
I hope. If I’ve learned anything it’s that with today’s children, you can’t assume jack shit.
Happy Monday.
Trish wrote on 04/14/08 at 7:19 pm :
Hiiiiiii…. YAH! *board snaps in two* A kick boxing class would kill me. I can barely put my pants on anymore without leanng against a wall. Keep on keepin on.
kelly wrote on 04/15/08 at 2:04 am :
if it means anything to you, i had dinner with you and the j-man over two years ago. his table manners were impressive back then, and i can only imagine they’ve gotten better.
crap. in the context of this post, that might not be comforting.
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