The end of 2 hour workouts....for now

I'm so bummed. This will be last of our two hour workouts for a few months. I'm also scared to death. The few I did of the 2hour workouts showed me I'm woefully under prepared for ANW. Every tells me to have hope because once I crossover on upper body strength the improvement will be rapid. Gods, I hope so. Right now I can't lift my bonnie bell of an ass over a 4 ft pole in the ground. I'm supposed to scale a 14ft wall in May. Inside, my inner athlete had gone fetal and is rocking back and forth muttering, "Fucked...we're completely fucked. A face plant is definite."

I missed the Monday and Wednesday workout. Monday I had a late booking and Wednesday Scott came home early and had a Disney craving, so we headed to Dtown. It was fun. We don't have the same days off, and the past few years have been hard on us. Finances were a bitch, and Scott was kerfuffled by the teaching industry going to shit, his band broke up, his mom died, and his college of choice turned him down. (Fuck Cambridge, punk ass bitches couldn't handle his line of logic anyway. Bunch of antiquated, aristo-putzes). It's been a tough few years. Scott is working hard at breaking out of his shell he has constructed around himself. I had to quit enabling him, by never saying no or asking for help I had let him retreat into himself. If he didn't need to do anything, why try at all? I was finally over it and wigged out on him. It worked, he woke up.

Surprised the shit out of me. I was expecting a homicide not capitulation. I bought Dland annual passes for us to re-connect. so when Scott says D-land! We go. It was awesome. We people watched, rode rides, and made wonderfully tacky comments about everyone. It was great to snark around with him.

The funny thing is whenever we go places you would think people would avoid the large grumpy black man, and the loud redhead. Not even! We always end up talking to someone who ends up in deep autobiographical moments that often surprise us both upon recollection (I have no idea how or even if the the confessor recalls the conversation). Nothing is sacred, they reveal the tragic, the funny and bizarre often to our bemused faces.

In line for Big Thunder Mountain, Scott and I met a cute couple from Oxnard who had brought their daughter to D-land to celebrate their anniversary. They wanted to go to Vegas, but their babysitter dropped out, so they had to get kid friendly quick. They chatted with us and sat in front of us on the train. Their daughter Scarlett acted a little frightened of the ride. I told her to throw her hands up and scream real loud. She did and said it helped. It was fun. And they were sweet. When we got home that night Scott looked at me and grinned. He asked, "Where were they from? Oxnard?"

"Yep, Oxnard."

"You sure?"

"Pretty sure."
"Oxnard, huh?"

We snickered. Every story the wife told us began with "We're from Oxnard, you know." By about the eighth time, every time she said it, we had to fight to not laugh. Scott would look at me and waggle his eyebrows, and I would choke a little then screw back on my interested face for the wife. It was good fun.

I really did miss being at workout. There is a mental exhaustion that comes with the workout that feels so good. Liz and I had a good laugh about it one night. She said the high of workout had nothing to do with an adrenaline rush, it had to do with being so wrung out you couldn't think. I stopped when she said that. I was like "Holy shit! You're right! I can't think. I have to fight to form a coherent sentence."

It is heaven! My two hour workouts are even more of a mind bomb. I have done some wonderful drugs in my lifetime. Shit with tracers, feelings of floating three feet behind myself, Doors style acid trips, and one seriously fucked up mushroom trip in Amsterdaam, but those two hour workouts of Kim's far outstrip any hallucinogen or cabinoid I've ever taken. All I can think of is breathing. Great big gouts of oxygen, my ribs and lungs pounding with blood and my upper chest squeezing and expanding like a bellows. No worries, no plotting or planning. All I can focus on is not dying. Huh, can't believe I love that feeling now.