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03.01.2003 - 3:10 p.m.

Saturday

It sure is beautiful outside today in Seattle. No chill in the air, blue sky everywhere you look. A sunglasses day, a t-shirt and light fleece day, a spring-is-in-the-air day. And my yard is sprinkled with yellow daffodils and blue and purple and white crocuses. I just want to roll in the grass whinnying.

Although I can't, because every muscle in my body has been systematically pounded with the business end of a meat tenderizer. From the hour and a half long kickboxing class I was foolish enough to take this morning.

Oh, I realize this is a diary trend for me. Because I can't seem to stick with a regular exercise program, I'm constantly out of shape when I take these horrible classes and then I whine to you about how it hurts, you guys, really.

But today was above and beyond what any human can stand. Well, except for the 30 other people in the class who seemed to do just fine. Fuckers. The thing is, normally when a class is really really hard, you can look at the clock at the fifty minute mark and think, whew, we're gonna be stretching soon. A 90-minute class? You don't get to do that. At the fifty minute mark she's making you do evil things with hand weights and running in place and high kicks and your lungs are threatening to explode from your body out through your nose and there is no stretching in sight for you, my friend.

We had to partner up to do some punching drills. That's always embarrassing, having to struggle to keep breathing/keep up with the pace/not projectile vomit in front of a total stranger. At one point the pint-sized instructor (who could kick Vin Diesel's ass with both hands tied behind her back) had us doing uppercuts. Really fast. Then faster. Then she yelled "FLURRY!!!!"

Flurry, apparently, is where you punch so fast your arms become a complete blur.

For like, 5 minutes.

Not so great, the flurry.

And there were plenty of other tortuous activities, like complicated kicking drills and Lipizzaner-esque raised knee ("Get those knees higher! HIGHER!") prancing. Before it was all over, I thought I was going to have to be MedEvac'd the fuck out of there.

At least she plays really kick-ass music the whole time. Unlike the Ghetto Gym, where I have heard not only "Ice Ice Baby", but much more annoyingly, the hopped-up version of "Smooth Criminal" at every. Single. Class.

"Annie are you okay? Are you okay? Are you okay Annie? Annie are you okay? Are you okay?Are you - "

(Speakers detonate with a loud blasting sound, and Sundry, who wears an expression of sweet relief, firmly pumps the empty shells from her double-barrel shotgun with one arm.)

But, like I was saying, it's a lovely day outside and I think I'll take the dog for a nice long walk. Must…just…get…legs to…work.

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