All posts by cgraham1969


I rolled lazily over in bed this morning, looked at my blushing bride and coyly suggested that we engage in some morning “relations”. 

She turned, opened one eye and not so delicately suggested that I go “relations” myself, so off to yoga I went. 


This morning was spent with a young and giggly Joanna, informing me to “stay tuned” in order to win my own stretchy Dragon sports bra (seriously, I haven’t grown those yet Joanna) and some yoga pants (maybe I could win two pair? One pair for each leg?), and her two ridiculously flexible friends. 

First of all, don’t make me giggle when you’re having me apply torque to my midsection. All sorts of sounds ensue and my “divine wind” escapes unimpeded into the room, thereby making me giggle some more and the scenario repeats itself ad infinitum until something solid makes its way into the picture. 

Then, it’s no longer funny. 


As Joanna and friends were telling me how good I was doing in my Sleeping Hound Dog pose, I was busy trying not to wake up the old battle axe (ahem… I mean my blushing bride) with my Thundering Booty pose. 


On a particularly trying maneuver (I think it was Sitting Up By Yourself pose) I was suddenly reminded of the delicious burrito dinner I had joyfully sat in front of the evening before,

…and not in a delightful way. 

The sound of roaring top fuel dragsters filled the room and the windows rattled in their frames. 


I had to jump up and steady the television, inducing even more foundation crumbling blats from my weakened fundament and making me giggle uncontrollably. (No, really. I’m like, eleven inside) 

As even more thunderous “applause” appeared from my nether region I began laughing outright. 


My stomach weakened and I bent over at the waist, laughing all the while until…

Suddenly it was no longer funny. 


With that last laugh and in my weakened state, an unwelcome and squishy visitor had made its way into my sweatpants and turned them unbiddingly into sewerpants. 

With a somber look on my face and humiliating giggling still coming from the tv, I turned to go upstairs to remedy my unfortunate situation and…

There in the doorway was my wife. 


Apparently all of the giggling and laughing and windy pants soiling coming from downstairs doesn’t make for a pleasant sleeping environment and the look of abject horror on her face told me that she’d been there for most of the highlights. 

…I wonder if she’s ready for relations now…


You Know What You Need To Do…

Nearby the end of my third lap this morning, I noticed a spider at the bottom of the pool. 

It was the size of Aragog, king of the arachnids, from Jerry Potter and the Venomous Donkeys or another one of those movies. 

(at least in my mind it was)


I screamed at it, wet myself quite thoroughly (no one could tell, I was underwater for cripes sakes) and sailed gracefully out of the pool in one fluid gesture like I had donned one of those wearable water jets, only the water was decidedly “apple juice” looking. (Yes, you could certainly tell then…)


Regaining my emancipated self composure, I got a running start, cleared the monstrosity and began my self beration (yeah, made that up) once more. 

Upon reaching the relative safety of the other end (seriously, you can never be too sure with those sneaky bastards) I saw that one of the grannies had found the offending creature and scooped it out of the pool, thereby allowing my hiding “cash & prizes” to make a reappearance and relative calm once again reigned in the pool. 

As I continued my flagellating workout, I saw that the grannies had gathered at my starting point and were gaily chatting away, leisurely pumping their foam barbells and having a great time. 


When I reached the end of my lap I took a breather and began defogging my goggles when a scratchy voice popped up and said 

“You know what you should do…”

And a tirade of exercise advice flowed forth. 

Everyone had a say. 


*”You should alternate freestyle and breast stroke”

*”You shouldn’t rest between laps”

*”You should try yoga swimming” (Huh? That’s a thing?)

*”You should tie your hands and feet together first” (What?!?!)

*”You should meet my granddaughter”

*”You should wear a speedo, handsome”



MPH: “Meet your granddaughter? Ma’am, I’m a married spud. Mrs. Potato Head is at home waiting on me.”

G1: “Yeah, but she’s really pretty”

G2: “My granddaughter is a yoga instructor”

MPH: (under my breath, “not a chance in hell…)

G3: “Mine is a lottery winning doctor that teaches pole dancing and likes older men with dad bod’s”

MPH: “Well maybe there’s a chance…wait…NO!” (What is this, granddaughter auction day at the pool?!?!)


MPH: “Ladies, I appreciate your concern for your young relatives marriage prospects but I’m off the market”

“I’ll keep you in mind in the unlikely event that something changes”

“Oh, you had cards made?”

“I’m not sure I should take one when you had it…um…there…”

As the raspy giggles ensued, I turned and climbed the ladder to low exclamations of “Mmmmhmmm”, “That’s right” and “If I was a hundred and thirty seven years younger…” 


And fled once again. 

The Olympian

Walking into the pool this morning I felt pretty average.
I woke up lethargic, just a little ho hum and I really didn’t want to get in the water.

The first lap and subsequent several, I felt the water dragging on my body and I just couldn’t seem to get into a decent rhythm.

After a bit I decided to change things up and work on the flip turn like I’d seen the olympians do on tv.

As I approached the end of the lane I began my turn by tucking my head and banging it into the wonderfully soft tiled edge of the pool.
Temporarily stunned, I breathed in some liniment flavored water, spit up someone’s wax earplug and prepared myself for another assault.

Approaching the other end and knowing I waited far too late to begin my turn the last time, I knew I had to get it going early.

Tucking my head and doing a perfect somersault with the exact twist I needed I thought “I’VE GOT THIS!” and started to plant my feet for a good and impressive shove off the wall, pushing as hard as I could to propel myself as far underwater as possible

My feet touched nothing.
I must have looked ridiculous, stretching full length in the water, fingers extended and reaching for greatness. My toes pointed and trying for firm purchase on the wall and at least eighteen inches away.

I’m sure the ladies thought I was having yet another seizure but I recovered and swam away from my embarrassment, trailing my dignity like a slow motion water skier.

Attempt number three brought complete and utter success.

I began my turn earlier than attempt number one, later than attempt number two and right on time. My grateful toes found the wall and I pushed off, skimming underwater with a feeling much resembling euphoria.

As I swam toward the other end I felt so free and so accomplished. I was absolutely gliding through the water feeling streamlined and slick.
I was high on life and liniment scented chlorine water.

As I got to the other end, my arms were feeling good but weak with the effort I’d been putting in so I thought I’d rest for a minute.

I stood up and smiled at the elderly woman in the lane next to me, knowing she’d seen the amazing feat I’d just performed at the other end, and nodded my hello.

Me: “Good morning!”
She: “…um…hi…uhhhh…”
Me: “Everything ok?”
She: “…um…no…uhhh…”
Me: “Do you need help?”
She: “…um…no…uhhhh…”

She: “You do.”

Me: “What’s wrong?”

She pointed at the far end of the pool and there, on top of the water, lay my feeling of freedom, accomplishment and my slick attitude in the form of my swimming trunks.
Except for my Elvis swim goggles and a moronic grin I was in my all-together birthday suit (it seriously needs ironing) and in full view of the octogenarian Chatty Kathy’s.

Heading to the other end “freestyle”, I looked much like a candy cane with my red face and white patooty, I retrieved my shorts, pulled them back on and amidst the cackling of the hens, made my way once more into the anonymity of the locker room.

Yoga With Adrienne

Let’s just say that Adrienne begins each session with a smile and a sweet, soothing voice but under that smooth facade lies a seriously deranged woman.


“Let’s start by swallowing your pride and selling a little bit of your souls to me in return for me even deigning to look at you for the next 40 minutes” (even though she’s on YouTube)

Laying out my now used yoga mat that smells delightfully like something I can only describe as “stank *ss” after one session,  I prepared myself for The Inquisition.
“Let’s begin with a few deep breaths while pinching your pee pee with some rusty pliers.” (WHAT?!?!)

“It’s all about self control and the ability to let it all go” (I felt something letting go)

“Hold it” (Hhhnnnnghhh…)


“Now release your tension (and the pliers) and feel it flow out through your beautiful yet crimson facade” (flowing now, yes…)

Letting go of my rusty pliers and “feeling it flow” I did indeed feel intense release and I immediately wet my stanky yoga mat.


(Could you at least wait for me to respond, Adrienne?!?!)

“Now, position yourself in Downward Faceplant, arms behind you, palms up and move your lips to the side so you’re not trying to breathe through your sopping wet yoga mat.” (Sweet Haysoos this thing stinks)


“Extend your right leg, avoiding sticking your toes in the box fan behind you, and slowly curl it behind and over your back until you’re standing next to your face” (ouch)

“Now bite yourself”
(WTF?!?! How’s that
supposed to help?)

“It lets you know you’re alive” (No it doesn’t, the urine and the weird fungi smell certainly do)

“Now, do the same with your left foot” (We’re breaking up Adrienne. It’s not me, it’s you)
“Pick your nose with the middle toe of your left foot” (I’m beginning to think you got your yoga training in the Dollar General parking lot)

“Using your hands, push yourself into a standing position without moving your feet” (I’m Going To Hunt You Down Adrienne, position)

“Aaaaaannnd, relax. Doesn’t that feel good? (Bite my hiney, Adrienne)

“Try not to hyperventilate. Breathe slowly and let the negative energy flow from your body” (Adrienne, I have only positive energy. It’s lighting bolts and I’m hurling them through my tv at you)

“Wasn’t that fun? This week I’ll be in the Aldi parking lot on Meyer & Troost from 7-8 on Wednesday and the abandoned warehouse on SW Boulevard under the I35 bridge on Friday from 7:30-8:30” (I KNEW IT!!!!!)
“Have a great week everyone!”
(Oh, I’ll be there Adrienne. You’re gonna pay…)

A Guilty Conscience

Guilt dragged me out of my warm and comfortable, three inch memory foam, sheets smelling of freshly bathed angels, pillows of the puffiest daydreaming clouds, covered in blankets of mink clad thoughts of happy…


You get it.

I didn’t wanna get outta bed.

I blame the whiskey. And society. And that smiling and inviting face that kept saying seductively “How about another?”

She could have been anyone. As beautiful as the sunrise on a spring morning, smelling of freshly mown grass and baby’s breath or ugly enough to scare mud out of a dry ditch.

It wouldn’t have mattered.

She had something I wanted.

51% corn, other grains, filtered limestone water and a few years makes for a fine indulgence on a Thursday night and I was out to challenge the bar to a duel. Last man standing.

The bar won again.


So here I am, poolside once more. Head pounding, hair tied up in a bun (strange, really. My hair isn’t very long and I have no idea how I got a bun) and a sickly feeling in my nethers.


I actually started out really strong, with some serious pull in my stroke. I was skimming though the water at a pretty good clip and starting to think “hey, I’ve got this!”

The cramp hit me about three quarters of the way through the second length.

Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a grown *ss man trying to maintain his composure and dignity, trying to swim with one knee pulled up and looking like he’s doing his best to imitate the FTD florist mascot while barely keeping his lips above the surface of the water and hoots of angst echoing against the concrete walls but let me tell you, it’s not pretty.


I finally grasped the edge of the pool with mewls of pain spitting through my teeth. Unintelligible words like “hhnngh…hhnngh…hhnngh” were emanating from my grimaced lips and a hand swam into view.

I looked up and back into the dark and soulless eyes of that mean granny from Wednesday.

“What is it with you?” she asked while hauling my pale carcass back into the pool deck.


I tried to convey my hopes and dreams of becoming a normal sized human being again and how I’ve tried just about everything else to no avail but what came out of my mouth was…

Last night.

Directly onto the deck in full view of everyone in the pool.

I saw some bits of peppermint, some pistachios, a gum wrapper and a whole uncooked and seemingly unchewed steak (it was a helluva night).


Getting unsteadily to my feet I took about a hundred yards of steps (stepping on the steak along the way) to get to the locker room door ten yards away and disappeared into the cool anonymity of the men’s room.


The Greek God

Mr. Chex Mix was flaunting a BAG OF CHEETOS this morning.
My first lucid thought was to tackle him right off the back of the locker room bench, wrench the offending (savory, delicious, full of terrible things for me) munchie bag and run off, laughing maniacally, stuffing them into my open maw but my recent yoga experience has taught me inner peace and self control.
(Namasté mother…🤐)

Instead I opted to stretch on my new swimming onesie (Hello Kitty) and hit the lanes. It’s a lot like footies but it’s skin tight (brace yourselves ladies) and it has swim flippers and water wings built right in! Sexy, right?!?!
Strutting my bad self onto the pool deck in full view of the chatty womenfolk in lane two, the aqua arena went completely silent.

I stopped, looked around, checked my midsection (this thing doesn’t even have a fly so no worries there) and thought “they must be in awe of my Greek god physique” (if said Greek god had been to Golden Corral way too many times).
With even more swagger in my step I stretched on my hot pink bathing cap, pulled my Elvis swim goggles (sideburns even) over my eyes and leapt into lane three.

I sank like a stone.

With a lead core.
Apparently some sadistic joker at the Hello Kitty factory filled the water wings with sand (I thought they felt a little heavy).

After panic thrashing for a few seconds I gathered my wits about me and pushed off the bottom of the pool, breaking the surface with terrified school girl shriek and sank yet again to the bottom.
Just as I thought it was lights out for me, the safety hook, which in all of my somethingdy something years I’ve never seen used, appeared directly in front of me and I grabbed ahold.

Hauling my stretchy pink & white vinyl clad quivering torso out of the pool was the tiniest and most kindly, grandmotherly looking lady I’ve ever had the fortune to gaze upon.

As I looked lovingly into her calm gaze she smiled sweetly at me and said in a demure voice…

“Get out of the pool, dumb*ss…”




(v) (def: Go $&#% yourself while being asked to perform nonsexual acts of insanity)

This morning was spent on my brand spankin’ new, smelling of plastic manufacturing yoga mat!
That was the best part.

In short order I began to think that slicing that damn mat up into cutting board pads for the kitchen was a waaaaay better idea than what I was currently into.

The trim and beautiful woman on screen (foul deceiver) was telling me in a calm voice to keep my core tight at all times while doing my leg lifts, belly crunches, arm wrenches, suplexes, people’s elbows, jumping off the top rope of the ring onto my opponent…

I drifted off for a second.

That calm and devious voice began telling me to gently pull my leg up behind my back like some fat ballerino, (yeah, made that up) over my shoulder and to keep breathing calmly. The careless whisper emanating from my gritted teeth was a soothing

If you’ve never seen your toenails just to the right of your head you should give it a try. They’re quite lovely. I was tempted to offer a little affectionate smooch to my big toe but the calminatrix on screen was giving me a filthy and horrified look. (How in the living yoga hell can she see me?!?!)
Next came the “do your best to bite the inside of your thigh” pose. I can’t remember the name. I think we went from Horse Rolling In Poop pose into Fleeing From Rabid Wolves pose straight into Spontaneous Bowel Voiding On The Brand New Yoga Mat pose.
I began to think that maybe yoga just wasn’t for me when my gracious on screen host faced the screen and said “You did great! (What?) Doesn’t that feel good? (I feel like a rented mule!) Have a wonderful day and we’ll see you next time!



Mr. Chex Mix

As I marched grimly into the locker room this morning I was greeted by the sight of a gentleman sitting on the bench in front of the lockers with all of his gym related detritus strewn about him neatly folded and looking untouched.

He was happily stuffing his mitt into a bag of Chex Mix and shoveling it into his open maw at a sedate pace. Bits of unchewed rye chips and flecks of pretzel salt were glued to his lips and the contented half smile on his face was glorious.
I have no doubt in my mind that he had absolutely zero intention of doing any exercise at all. This was his $40 a month getaway from home and the apparent bran and vegetable matter diet he’d been restricted to by a concerned spouse that left him, let’s say…unfulfilled.

As I began pulling off my shoes and getting ready to expose myself to the dangers of the pool and it’s mischievous inhabitants yet again, I heard…

“Hey, you want some of this?”


His voice was calm, relaxed and without even a hint of stress or angst and it suddenly dawned on me…

maybe there’s something to this new Chex Mix diet.

I calmly turned around, steeled my resolve to make myself into a better and more healthy man, husband and father and…

Began the meticulous task of making sure the crumbs and salt are all gone from my face before I get home…


Yoga (& how to not do it)

Yoga  (def: an ancient East Indian word meaning diabolical sadism) 

I started with a fifteen minute flexibility program through an app I found called “Daily Yoga”. This is a site that through calm voices and meditative contemplation will manipulate your body into something resembling a multi loop twisty turny roller coaster at Magic Mountain.
While learning the arts of a contortionist I was introduced to several named poses and immediately came up with new names for them while holding my leg out and stretching my hand much like a Michelangelo character reaching for his deity, only in my version the characters hand is shaking like a leaf and he’s trying not to poop in his “yoga” (pizza) pants.
There was:
*Thunderbolt which I aptly named “Thunderpants” after feeling a little “relaxed”.
*Cat Balancing Pose which indeed my cat can do and I make look like I’m sh*tface hammered and trying to complete a dui field test with a determined straight face.
*Dynamic Reclined Spinal Twist. I’m certain that the famous Torquemada of the Spanish Inquisition had a device that did this to unsuspecting human beings and now we get to do it to ourselves. How delightful!
*Shrieking While Peeing On My Yoga Mat. This one should be self explanatory.
After fifteen minutes I was told to relax (Thunderpants Position) and breathe, (Aroused Bullfrog Position) huffing in and out while snot bubbles form at each of my nostrils (amazing in itself as each nostril was working independently of the other. No idea how I did that) and let my mind relax my body (the knotted and coiled meat sack that took a mere fifteen minutes to attain).
I can’t (CAN) wait until I reach the advanced course. At that point I should be able to join the Chinese circus and fold myself into one of those little (refrigerator) boxes!
More to come…

It Was Easier Today

It was easier today.
I’m super suspicious and I get the feeling that body parts will begin to fall off throughout the day.

My arms and hands however, are shaking like a leaf. I tend to type on my phone with one finger and so far my typing feels like I’ve got delirium tremens much like a drug addict on lockdown. It’s taken me 45 minutes to get this far. I type a few words, misspell several and try to erase by pressing the M button 16 times in a row. My drug is every food ever ever ever and it seems that my only cure is chlorine (although I may dabble in a little yoga and lumberjacking… you’ll be the first to know)
This morning began like many others.
I cried a little, snot ran down my face and I made those little hiccuping noises while hitching my breath.
When I looked up and realized there were once again horrified onlookers I slipped into the pool gracefully. And by gracefully I mean I stood up, wiped my nose on my forearm, tripped on the side of the pool and fell flat on my belly with a wet smacking sound, bruising my chin and fragile ego, then rolled into my lane “gracefully”.
Everything went mostly well after that except for an elderly lady I’ll call “Peggy” who blazed past me every other lap while carrying an Olympic weight bar and some powdered donuts.

I have no idea how those donuts stayed dry and I’m gonna have to ask her about it.
*** Good morning all

Btw, one of the Glamour Boys was here this morning and he can’t wait to tell the Aqua-ettes that I’m once again fair game.