Tag Archives: workout


I skipped the pool again today. 

It was AWESOME!!!!!


After tossing and turning all night I’m sure I visited every square inch of my bed at least forty seven times. 

When the alarm went off at 5am I hauled my sorry carcass out of bed, turned off the alarm and went straight back to my room falling flat on my face into my pillow. 

Screw the nine minutes the snooze button hands out like a pinch of m&m’s in front of the worlds largest candy store. You know there’s more than nine minutes of beautiful sleep behind that door, you just have to open yourself to a little procrastination. 

I did. 


I opened the door, crossed the threshold and dreamed the dreams of the innocent. (Or maybe just the slightly less guilty)

I feel great and the Aqua-ettes are just gonna have to do without me today 🙂


&%$#@*& &^%$#@#$%^&*&^%$#$%^&!!!!!

With yesterday’s sangria & mexican beat down behind me (figuratively), I had a fresh start (also figuratively) in the pool today. 

Soon, the fresh start got a little tainted (in a great way). 

Samantha L. Jackson was back. 


Laying with her arms across the lane rope and her back leaning against it like some extra comfy divan, she was lazily kicking her legs at about .047 rpm but in contrast had a grimace that was contemplating murder. 

Mumbling under her breath I could hear the words “I can’t believe I have to do this m&$+*^f&$*^n’ sh*t”.

I offered a tentative good morning and she replied with “G&$D*^%M#€£+*^F%#&$@?!DOCTOR’s£€#%^*+sh*t•@&$'”@&#%^*!!!”

I almost turned away as the rant continued but it’s kind of like a train wreck. You don’t want to see the bodies but you can’t shut your eyes as you drive by the carnage. 

I mentioned our mutual love for ice cream and the fact that my son and I had shared some cherry chocolate chunk and her eyes lit up like she’d just seen the savior himself. 

Her softer side showed. 

It was more like gravel but still a bit softer. 


You could see the wheels spinning and the idea forming in her mind when she blurted out “F**k this, I’m out!” 

She launched herself out of the pool and as she left, she peeked her head out of the locker room and asked

“Do you know a good Mexican place that has sangria?”


Mexican Sangria

Sangria was the beverage of choice yesterday.


My blushing bride turned…um…29…
(no, really)…and we were celebrating. 

After a couple of hours relaxing in the yard & a couple of cigars it was time for a meal and some good local Mexican fare was decided on. 

Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever followed white sangria with Mexican food but it’s a volatile mix and I, my family, the new singed hole in my skivvies and now the entire aquatic center are paying the price. 

It’s like a war zone in there. 


The foul mist hanging over the pool has a distinct odor that stings the nostrils and makes the eyes projectile tear in order to wash away the burning sensation. (I can only guess that this is the scent of Sex Panther from Anchorman, a bit like a turd with burning hair on it)

I do have to say though that my swim took a lot less time due to the extra psi pressure buildup and subsequent expulsion.

I left a wake (in more ways than one). 

With eyes downcast and a mumbled apology, I exited the pool although it fell on deaf (and mostly unconscious) ears. 


Everyone had a slightly green pallor. 

Maybe a salad today…

Samantha L. Jackson

I have a weakness for ice cream.

It’s the kryptonite to my Superman.


I’ve never met an ice cream I didn’t like, or one that didn’t like me. 
One might say I’m an ice cream whisperer.

Today, working off last nights ice cream binge, I met Samuel L. Jacksons older sister.
The were made from the same cloth, only this woman was taken from the dirty side.

When I said good morning she responded with “Yeah, it’s a good m*&%$@#f*&%$n’ mornin’! The sun is up and I’m at the m*&^%$f*&^%n’ gym again. Breathin’ in & out though, so it’s pretty good!” with a smile on her face.

I guessed that in the early years in the KCMO school district m*&^%$#f*&^%n’ was taught as an adjective.
When I asked what her plans for the day were, she replied “I got a long m*&^%$#f*&^%$n’ day ahead of me. Dr.s appointment at nine where I gotta get some more prescriptions and I don’t like that sh*t. M*&^%$f*&^%rs tell me I have to take this and I have to take that. I’m like, 197 years old and I’ve made it this long without all that m*&^%$f*&^%$n’ sh*t. I’m leaving that office and headed right to the store for some ice cream!”

If I were like, 70 years older, she would be mine.


Cheerios. Mmmmmmmm…

Cheerios are delicious. Especially The honey nut variety. 


The first time. 

Later, when you’re in the middle of a swim, head underwater, breath held and mid-stroke, a little bubble makes its way from the murky (and 2% milky) depths and enters the world through your olfactory passage. 

It burns the nostrils. 

The hair that inadvertently grows there curls up in heat seared death (note to self: when nose hair gets too long, have some Cheerios).

I find it difficult to see when my goggles are filled with the salty tears that my eyes have literally projectile squirted into them, filling the little void almost instantly. 

Keeping my eyes open was zero problem but for some reason my mind was screaming “Don’t look!” just in case something escaped my pursed lips. 

I had to re-swallow a hunk of something I swear I never ate in the first place. 


I could only assume that the mild mannered O’s that I had so lovingly gazed upon in my cereal bowl were tearing me apart from the inside out. 

From now on, it’s back to the smoothies…

Less Jiggly

I’m not as jiggly as I was a couple of months ago.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not thin by any stretch of the imagination but when I run (usually away from something) I don’t feel like my body has jiggled twice as far as my legs took me.

I’ve pretty much avoided the scale (BECAUSE THE M*&#$@F!*%ER LIES!!!) for two reasons:
1. I’m exercising more to keep my heart healty than anything else.
2. It’s digital and the batteries are dead.


I have however, been avoiding the weight room since I threw my back out. We had a really bad argument over who really ran the show and parted ways in a huff.


We’ve since made up after a few tense phone calls and LOTS of muscle relaxers (and episodes of WTF happened over the last few hours…and why am I sticky?). I’ve been informed that it’ll be performing at the standard pace, holding me upright in just a short while.

The pool (although still huge bikini and mumuit flavored) has really done the trick and my stamina (IN THE POOL…!!!) has increased to the point that the crying has pretty much stopped but the occasional whimper makes it through.

At least the Aqua-ettes find it amusing…

The Crack Machine

5 am comes far too quickly after laying my head on that delicate pile of bunched up puffy clouds I call my pillow where I dream of unicorns farting rainbows and the Partridge Family bus (having serious bus/tree problems).

Food is an ever present part of my dreams too as well as part of my every waking moment. 

It’s what I do. 

This is why I get up (again, try to crawl over the wife unflatulently) and flog myself for a mile in lane three while trying not to swallow mumu swimsuit flavors. 

I’m trying to stop following my belly around. I’d like it to be a part of the walk with the rest of my being instead of trying to always lead the way. 

When I get out, I generally make it to the shower without weaving or falling over, clean up, shave and write this post. 

This morning, after sitting in the same chair every weekday morning for the last two months, I finally noticed…

“The Crack Machine”


I’m doomed…

Milestones & Kicking Chuck Norris’ *ss

As the exercise regimen continues I do hit the occasional milestone. 

My milestones however, are not typical. 

Recently… I was able to tie my shoes without holding my breath. 

My large compatriots know what I’m talking about. 

You sit in a chair or step, spread your legs in order to access your feet, maybe use one hand to lasso your foot with a shoe or strike some odd cheerleader/yoga pose to get at that elusive foot from the side, hold your breath & tie as fast as humanly possible before you pass out aaaaaaaaaaaaand…



I think today I may occasionally flaunt my newfound skill by retying my shoes is all sorts of scenarios such as:
1. Lying on my back with my foot on the air.
2. Bicycling. 
3. Riding a horse. 
4. Running with the bulls in Spain. 
5. Skipping rope. 
6. Kicking Chuck Norris’ *ss (“Hold on Chuck, I gotta tie my shoe without holding my breath”) Chuck will wait in awed silence for the continuation of his beating…
Just kidding. Chuck would calmly hold me down while ripping my feet from my legs, handing them to me & saying “Here, tie those shoes without holding your breath now b*tch!”

Or, maybe I’ll just keep my new super power to myself…


Six Pack

Six Pack. 

That’s what I heard when I walked into the pool room this morning. 

One of the Aqua-ettes called out “Is that Six Pack?!” and one of the Glamour Boys piped up with “Yeah baby!” through his fog of cologne. 

Apparently that’s what they call me when I’m not there (or at least when my head is under water). Six Pack…

I’m not sure what six packs look like where they spend their time but they must be HUGE. 

I’m wearing what I like to politely refer to as a “pony keg”


The ladies heard that I spend a few days a week in the gym lifting weights (or at least staring at them with fierce determination) and amongst themselves have determined that I will, from this day forward, have the moniker of Six Pack. 

I suppose that if I have nicknames for my pool friends it stands to reason that they would have one (or many) for me and I guess Six Pack isn’t so bad. 

I’m gonna own it…

Muscle’s (Why I Don’t Have Them)

Let us take a moment to discuss muscles. 

Not just our regular every day muscles but the huge muscles of the perpetual protein shake swilling, horse hormone shooting, can’t do the hibbity dibbity, tosser of the free weights. 


During my weight training, which consists of me projectile sweating until a small rain forest sprouts around me, I’ll typically lift as much as an 8oz barbell while trying desperately not to crap my pants. 

Next to me (every day I’m in the gym instead of the pool it seems) is a man working out who looks as though his muscles have grown their own muscles because they’ve each grown lonely and need a friend. 

He’s huge. 

As I’m struggling with the bench press I see him chuckling to himself & then outright laughing at me while he ties one of the weight bars into a perfect sailors knot and then breaks another one over his knee and proceeds to throw it into the sun. 


I see him waddle over to the squat machine, pick the entire thing up and start curling it. 

Now, I know the workout life can be addicting but I’m not sure that I need to associate with the eternal muscle head since obviously the injections have done a number on his brain. 

As I left the gym he had finished his curls, set the squat machine down & had begun chewing on the corner of it while making strange contented noises. 


I think I’ll stick with a smoothie…