Just got back from my morning run, which I mixed up by doing some fun and grueling stair sprints at the junior high track where I'm now spending my mornings. I didn't want to kill myself, because I've got jiu-jitsu class today, but it got my heart rate up and warmed up my leg muscles, which are sore from combat class yesterday.
So, it turns out that combat class is not, as I'd assumed, just a general fitness-for-combat session, but rather where Tony, the very nice owner of the place, trains his best fighters for, you know, actual fights. Despite that, he was nice enough to let me stay—since they were doing what he termed a "light workout" since one of the guys has a muay thai fight next week. This "light workout," of course, kicked my ass, and then I got to watch some truly awesome sparring. The guy going to the fight, a whippet-thin young dude, was unbelievably fast, and pulled off those awesome jump punches and jumping knee-kick things that I'd only seen in Street Fighter before. And yeah, incredibly fast. Reread the first sentence of this paragraph. I'll wait. Okay, in that amount of time, he jump-kicked you in the sternum a dozen times. Awesome.
Most importantly, everybody there was surprisingly cool, with a decided non-meathead vibe. Sure, this is a place that by definition emphasizes brawn, but they had no issue with being welcoming to and supportive of my flabby, effeminate ass. As my wife said, "You're totally going to start male-bonding, aren't you?" It's possible.
My legs are already looking more defined, which I could care less about. It's time to start chipping away at my not-inconsiderable belly, my wattle, my torso-as-one-big-love-handle. I know it's ridiculous of me to get impatient less than a week into this, but dammit, I want some results. Supervillains of Coz aren't going to throw themselves off cathedrals.