Punching Bags, Barf Bags, Brown Paper Bags and Mulch

Gotta say that I find THIS to be highly amusing.

***

Got a lot done today, I really did. Noon was Krav Maga. Sensei had a bit of bad luck with an Arlington cop, so we got off to a somewhat late start. I didn't particularly care.

We did this thing called circuit training. Familiar with this? Every heavy bag had a note with instructions on it. We'd do two-minute drills at each bag, doing whatever two exercises were on the note. I got a bit gassed, I must admit. The front kick lunges were a bit of a bear.

I have never in my life barfed from a too-intense workout. I'm proud of that. I usually make a point of not resting with my hands on my knees; I don't even want to look like I'm close to launching the Ramen.

Today, the hands were on my knees. I wasn't in danger of really doing it, but you know, it did cross my mind.

***

After that I had a number of things to do. Worn out as I was, I really needed to cut the grass. I gulped some water and zipped across the front and back yards in 102 degree heat. Honestly, it wasn't that bad.

***

Showered, hit Albertson's, then picked up THEBOY's friend from Bedford and fetched the kids early from school, surprising THEBOY with an unannounced play date. The kids were good.

***

After the guest departed, though, THEBOY began to complain. He was alternately complaining about wanting to see his buddy again, about being hot, dizzy, having a headache and a stomach ache. Hmm. I didn't know if it was drama, fatigue, or maybe a bug.

And THEGIRL... look, I'm sorry to get gross, but that girl's guts have been in overdrive lately. She dirties up diaper after diaper.

I've been changing diapers since 2000, ya'll, and I still find the task only slightly less disturbing than, say, carrying a severed head in a paper sack.

IT.

IS.

REVOLTING.

***

She'd had a few bad diapers, and I hoped she was done as I took her and THEBOY out for our Friday evening Tex Mex. I was banking on his behavior to be the product of drama or fatigue. Thought some lemonade and queso might perk him up.

***

Overanxious Daddy at the restaurant thought #1: "Hmm... he suddenly got up to go to the bathroom. Surely he'd walk faster than that if he needed to hurl. Right?"

***

They were good, though THEBOY was still like an unwatered flower, just too quiet for comfort, lying down in the booth a lot, not eating much.

***

Overanxious Daddy at the restaurant thought #2: "That's just mole on her fingers, right?"

***

So we got home and THEBOY asked to lie down on my bed, watch a movie. I figured he'd crash soon, but he slowly perked up.

***

The girl continued to go through diapers at a rapid clip. I think one of them lasted about three minutes. You'd think it'd be logical to just let her keep one on a bit, let her finish her business before changing it, right? Well you never KNOW if she's done, and in the meantime the whole house smells like mastodon entrails. I change a diaper the first moment I know it's messy.

And you know, she's not acting sick or anything. She runs off (usually to her brother's empty room, which he'd be quite displeased to learn if he ever, you know, bothered to go in there). I'd find her in there and ask to see her diaper. She'd chirp "okay!" and bop on over to me like she'd just discovered that she's got a superpower, and it's pooping.

I started to ask for divine intervention after a while. I personally spoke to Jesus, Allah, the Buddha, and Phil Lynott in my attempt to cease the diaper onslaught. No luck until we reached diaper #6.

You read right.

***

Bless Heather, by the way. With puny THEBOY on my bed and THEGIRL going through diapers like Barry Bonds goes through needles, I realized we were nearly out of diapers. Heather was in the area and brought me some. We owe her bigtime for that. And I mean beyond the $15.99.

***

I didn't mean to go on and on about that. I'm not all that rattled. I'm glad THEBOY isn't sick, glad THEGIRL is asleep, glad to have a Rangers game to watch.

And I am glad beyond words that my wife is returning tomorrow evening.

***

Over the next several days I'm going to post a short "failed project journal." When Kelli left I had an idea to make a change. It didn't work out.

The first entry follows. Ya'll have a good weekend.

***
***

¡No Hue! Si Whey…

(It’s funny if you speak Spanish)

***

July 2, 2006

***

You’re reading this about a month after the fact.

That is, as I write this it’s early July. I’ve listened to the folks who tell me I’m too skinny (my wife and my father; my sister has only insinuated), and I’ve decided to do something about it.

I like feeling like this. I like being able to run moderate distances, like being able to emerge from the “kick-butt cardio” class at Tiger Klay with something left in the tank.

But I don’t like having no chest and skinny arms.

***

So with Kelli gone for over a month, and time to kill, I’ve decided to modify my workouts, under the guidance of Whit, and see if I can’t start to put on a few pounds of muscle for the first time ever.

I don’t eat much meat (simply a taste thing, not a product of moral compunctions), so I’ve never been that big.

I figure if I had the willpower to all but eliminate junk food from my diet for this long, I can mix in good sources of protein regularly.

I’ve also just purchased—God help me—a month’s supply of whey-based protein powder.

We’ll see if five weeks can make a noticeable initial difference.

***

I’ll write regularly about my progress or lack thereof. I’ll post these entries a month later (in August, when you’re reading them)

***

The guy at the GNC who sold me this stuff looked like Brendan Fraser in George of the Jungle. If the GNC folks would be broadminded enough to let that salesman actually work his shifts in a loincloth, I’m guessing he’d move a ton of product to straight women and gay men.

Really nice fellow though, not pushy at all. He all but beamed about his love for coffee and stimulant drinks as he handed me paper cup after paper cup of…something with creatine in it. Tasted like Gatorade, but I’ve been passing gas like a refried bean taste-tester ever since.

He babbled in workout terms and acronyms I’m not familiar with, though I know when he referred to “how vascular” I am, it meant I’m kinda freakin’ veiny.

***

I’m having the first of the protein drinks now… this is the vanilla-flavored one. 40 grams of protein in this, and it’s not bad once you get past the initial mulch-like flavor. And the instructions didn’t say anything about mixing it into coffee instead of water, but I’ve gotta say it isn’t bad.