After a few delays, my fitness buddy and I made it back for a tough workout today. I was afraid I had lost a lot of ground, dealing with the aftermath of the flood. I had been challenged not to coast on my fitness routine too much while I was gone. It was "suggested" that I do three sets of fifteen squats every day while I was in Colorado, at the very least. Yeah, that happened. I think I did three total sets over the entire seven days I was there. I felt rotten for the first few days I was home, so I had to wade through a bit of inertia to get myself out and moving. I did it. I pushed through stiffness and lingering pain on my left shin (that refuses to die already). My little power-lifting cheerleader refused to let me back off on any of the weights, and even dared me to go higher. I did. I may have cursed her good name once or twice while trying not to cry during reps fourteen and fifteen, but I fought through and picked up right where we left off. It feels good to be this tired and sore.
When I was a younger woman, I had a hair trigger on my temper. (My entire family just rolled their eyes and nodded in unison at that statement.) It took a lot of growing up, and a lot of letting go to get to the point where the explosions are few and minor now. But it apparently takes a sentence and a half on the phone with my daughter to escalate to that crazy point. It amazes me how we can both argue the same side in a debate, and yet it still sounds like we violently disagree. We had one of those conversations again today where I wonder who taught her English, because she and her dad and I all speak a different version of it. I hope I live long enough to see her lose interest in fighting over every word. If it's taken me this long to get this far, maybe in thirty years she'll be ready.
For most of the trip to Colorado, I worried about the old man cat. My kitty-caretaker sent me pictures of everyone, since I was missing them so badly. The one she sent of the old man looked like she had just woken him up (likely true, since he would not have been able to hear her come in the house). His cheeks looked sunken in, and his eyes were gooey from the head cold he can't seem to kick. I was convinced he would not still be here when I returned. But apparently he's scrappier than I gave him credit for. He's thinner and more frail than ever, but he looks like he might have finally gotten the upper hand on the rhinovirus he has fought for months. I have some time yet with the old guy.
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