Sometimes it's only madness that makes us what we are. Madness, and handwraps.

My legs are particularly wobbly today, even after a run to try to get them warmed up—a run that I took, because of nonstop spousal coughing and a desire to avoid the other people (and their dogs) on the track this morning, about an hour earlier than I've been going out. It was subsequently pitch-dark outside and wonderfully quiet.

As I stumbled around the track, I was listening to an episode of Radiolab that I've listened to four or five times already, but one that I adore—the theme of which is discovery versus invention. Are nature's patterns there already, for us to find? Or are we imposing our own sense of order on a messy and ultimately non-understandable world? It's kind of a trip to be jogging (or teetering, as the case was this morning) and musing the idea of the periodic table while the sun rises and turns the mountains purple.

Anyway, another cardio-kickboxing class yesterday, which stomped and squashed me just as much as my first one had. But I got through it again, as I'll continue to do until you can use my stomach as a lemon zester. Such a brutal workout in the middle of the day made me ravenous, so I rushed home after work to prepare a less-healthy dinner than what I should have made. Regardless of the presence of cheese and honey mustard on my plate, I still came in far below on calories.

Tonight, it's back to the regular, non-fighty gym for some elliptical and some weights. I particularly want to spend some time on my back and shoulders, which I'll call my lifting-up-supervillains-and-throwing-them-out-of-windows muscles. We'll go easy on my legs today, and then tomorrow, it's back to kickboxing. I bought my own handwraps and gloves this morning. For punching.