The track was bustling this morning. I woke up a little late, since I had pub quiz last night and didn't get to bed until midnight—an unthinkably late hour for me lately. So the sun had already peeked out over Kansas, and the track was crammed with giggling CC kids, whose effortless litheness mocked me while I stumbled. "Haha! We're 20! We can drink gallons of Natty Ice and eat ridiculous amounts of gooey cafeteria food! And we won't gain a pound! We're young! Young and beautiful! Haha!" Like the dour crusader I'm trying to become, I simply lowered my head. Just you wait, I advised them grimly. Come talk to me when you're in your early thirties and your cheap-beer binges are no longer adorable and de rigueur, when your tight little bellies have turned white and soft and your dumbass white-boy dreadlocks have long been traded for male-pattern baldness and a double chin. We'll talk then. And by the way, don't you have your own track over at the college?
I hit the regular gym last night, and was surprised to find that, after 20 minutes on the elliptical, I'd barely broken a sweat. I then did some upper-body work with the weights, grunting as my girlish arms hefted embarrassingly small payloads. But hey—for the first time in my life, I'm getting a chest. Right now it's wee and hidden behind the cushion of man-boob, but still, there's a little shelf growing there. Maybe I can also train to get a cleft in my chin.
Cardio kickboxing again today, and then, depending on how I'm feeling, jiu-jitsu late this afternoon. Then I've got band practice tonight, a show tomorrow night, and a weekend where, in addition to working out, I'd also like to paint my kitchen and hang out with my wife and rake my yard. I'm also getting sent out of town for my job next week, which is kind of throwing a wrench into my diet and non-drinking proclivities, but hey—the hotel I'm staying at has a 24-hour gym. I checked.