Sunday, August 15, 2010

Gulliver's Travels

If I could actually move any body part right now, I'd try the seemingly impossible task of running a brush through my hair.

I woke up with the notion I'd be going to the gym today, but as my hand attempted a movement to lift the covers - I realized I've been on an excursion through Gulliver's travels and I am now tied to the bed by tiny villagers whom I cannot see. These are not to be confused with the Village People, because that would be a whole different story and I'd be scouring my neck in search of an Adam's apple. The workouts would have to cease immediately if this were the case.

These people know how to tether a giant. I gave up the notion of even lifting my head, until something stronger and more frightening threatened me - and that would be my breath. That spicy, pear infused pork dinner washed down with Prisoner wine came rushing back to the surface of my frontal lobe. I really don't know how the brain works, but I happened to remember this particular term from anatomy or brainatomy, whatever it was.

During my time-out in bed with nothing but my own thoughts swirling around in my (cavernous) head, I recalled a week of daily workouts, topped off with a mother-daughter pilgrimage to a Martial Arts class as my final stunt for the week.

The MA class is taught by the Olympic medalist trainer of "Puke-Girl." Choosing my one last meal before "said" class was very scientifically thought out. What tastes the worst coming back up? - EGGS. NO EGGS!

I must rest now, but when I return you'll have a full recap of the MA experience. I don't know what was more difficult - the class, or the verbal sparring with my Tweenie for the 20-minute journey to learn the art of self-defense.

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