Once upon a time, there was a woman who apparently showers too frequently promised all kinds of details about how sore she was now that training has started once more. Alas, she's not that sore today, and so doesn't feel the need to complain. This woman has a wonderful flatmate who often does little, thoughtful things like set the coffee maker to brew at 7:30 with enough cinnamon coffee for the woman to fill a Thermos and be on her way..
Well, fill that Thermos the woman did, then set off for work during a beautiful clear -25 degree day. When she arrived to work, the woman pulled the Thermos, which had sat snugly in her coat pocket (they're very big pockets) the hour walk it took to get to work. The steel Thermos was cold, and the woman lost hope of a hot cup of cinnamony coffee to begin her day.
But little did the woman know that this Thermos was a magic thing, and though it felt cold and frozen, the contents of the Thermos were still piping hot and steaming. So it was, the woman sat down to her ridiculously large now that she's training again breakfast with a hot cup of delicious coffee writing a silly story about how surprised she was that the coffee was still so hot.
In all seriousness though, I think the Thermos is magic. It's cold out... like... really cold out and the coffee, despite being in a Thermos in an outside coat pocket (not inside where body heat would help) and feeling frozen to the touch, is still hot. Makes for a really, really pleasant morning. It's really good coffee.
Also equally seriously, I'm not all the sore from training last night, which makes me suspicious. I am, however, struggling with the realisation that I am wildly out of shape. You see, I trained kick boxing for an hour last night, followed by 45 minutes of Kung Fu, and then I went and got ready to run. I ran for roughly 25 minutes. I say I ran, I jogged some, walked some, jogged some, walked some. I swear while I was jogging that I was lapped three times by this one guy who was running before I got to the track and continued to run after I stopped, got dressed and wandered out. He was just running along, even strides, not giving a fuck.
Ugh! I want to be able to run like that guy! He was faster than I was, had way more stamina and just looked so comfortable running on the track.
I felt like such a lump of lard watching him.
It's the same sinking feeling I get watching the other lifters in the small weight lifting crew that has grown within the ranks of my Kung Fu school. They're all so strong and good at it, and here I am struggling with the baby weights. It's really quite disheartening. Mind you though, I've spent my life not being good enough, so I'm used to that particular bitterness, and can now harness it for good... and by good I mean berating myself enough that I resolve to do the thing just to spite myself.
I'm charming like that.
In far happier news, I am almost finished editing Human. It's down to the last few chapters now. I hope to be finished this week, actually. Then it's back to writing Daughters of Britain, hopefully with enough time left over to start editing together the story that is currently the Your Very Own Adventure project. I think I have come up with a good title. Sky Road Walker. What do you think?
Right, I really ought to get to work, so here is a random picture to put a smile on your face: