Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Criminals are cowardly. A superstitious terrible omen. A cowardly lot. My disguise must strike terror. I must be black. Terrible. And with sore legs.

Let me introduce you to something called Ultimate Fitness Kickboxing.

UFK is when, after a short private kickboxing lesson that has already made you sweaty, a very nice young woman makes you do things, over the course of an hour, that ensure that you not only feel, but physically taste every cigarette you've ever smoked, ever Pizza Roll you've ever consumed, every beer you've ever drunk. In sixty- or thirty-second increments, you are given a set of tasks that require you to run, jump, squat, kick, kick, kick, punch, punch, punch, squat, run, punch, kick, duck, punch, contort, punch, kick, kick, kick, kick and kick. There is no stopping, and even when you think you've entered the cooldown portion of the workout there's still plenty of pain to be had, the calculated straining of muscles that makes you plant your sweaty red face on the punching bag in front of you and pray for death. Ultimate Fitness Kickboxing is awesome.

I have never been so completely reduced to jelly, my arm muscles slack with lactic acid, unable to throw another punch until the very nice young woman tells me to. It's the greatest workout ever, and it's exactly what I need. So I'm going to do it three times a week.

It's such a good workout that, according to Lose It! and after a tremendous and not-small dinner of sirloin and green beans and a balsamic mushroom redux, I still came in 1,400 calories short. Fourteen hundred! And I ate quite a bit yesterday, all told. This is why I've lost another pound.

So my plan for today was to chill out and just do a short morning run and a regular-gym workout tonight, but having looked at the PPCS's schedule, I see that if I don't do UFK again today (and then on Thursday afternoon), I won't get my allotted ass-kicking for the week. So, depending on how I feel, I'll again be huffing and puffing and responding to every new command with incredulity. ("Now, two squat jumps, right side kick, jab/cross/hook!" "What? You're kidding!" and "Left side kick, right side kick, 4-count punch/jab, shuffle!" "No fucking way.")

For the first time in a long time, I looked at myself fresh out of the shower last night and saw a skinny, toned buy beneath the tubby guy I've gotten so used to. And that guy's gonna be here before too long. To, you know, protect the citizens of Gotham-Coz. And to look pretty rad while doing so.

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