Goddamn, my Ass Hurts
from Kameron Hurley @ Brutal Women 03 Oct 2006 2:49 pm
OK, seriously, it was a lot of squats and lunges. But DAMN.
Fitness archives
Sweet Lawd
from Kameron Hurley @ Brutal Women 20 Sep 2006 6:29 am
[Fitness]
God damn I'm sore.
Good class.
Doing it again today!
Whooooo!
Good class.
Doing it again today!
Whooooo!
And the Beat Goes On…
from Kameron Hurley @ Brutal Women 19 Sep 2006 9:37 am
Had one of my favorite classes last night - you switch off between kicking/punching combos and free weights work. I also like the combos/jump roping intervels as well, but I do so love my free weights... though mostly, I think, so I can compare what I lift to what everybody else lifts.
I'm trying to spend more time working on technique during the drills, because as lovely as it is to hit things really hard, I've gotta improve my form, or... I'm just hitting things really hard. And I'm going to hurt myself.
On the one hand, it's nice to not be *totally* new at this stuff, on the other hand, I realize how sloppy all my kicks and punches have gotten. The more I do it, the more my body remembers, the more I improve. Like anything else, it takes time. As someone who has very little patience, it can be a long slog, but you know, how long and hard would I laugh at somebody who'd never written a story who said, "I'm just going to sit down tonight and write a novel." After all, they've been writing other sorts of things all their lives! Why shouldn't writing a novel be just as easy!? It's just writing! Anybody can write!
Anybody can kick a bag!
Yea.
I was on the bus on the way to the MA school and was digging out a couple of jellybeans to up my sugar before class, and I opened up the pocket of my bag that's got the plastic bag of jellybeans in it, and there was a capped syringe in there, cause that's the pocket I put them in to designate which are used and need to be disposed of at home, and I had this sudden gut-churning revulsion.
Syringes mean sickness. I'm sick.
It still hits me sometimes. I mean, on the one hand, it gets so routine to take your shot at 5:30 am that you do it automatically even on weekends. It's just life. The idea of sitting down to eat without checking sugar feels weird. At the same time, there's this strange dissonance.
The other night, I walked into my room and there on my desk was a capped syringe that I'd forgotten to pop into the coffee can on my desk. And I just stared at it like, "What's *that* doing here?"
There's this strange thing in my life that's not supposed to be here, and at the same time, something I've worked very hard to integrate pretty smoothly into my life, and that I'm dealing with. But... sometimes... it's just so strange.
I suppose it's strange to think of myself as dependent on something I have to shoot up like some kind of junkie. Sickness is not terribly sexy. As somebody who, despite all the ridiculous angst about eating and weight, had always been really strong and healthy. I've never broken a bone. I've never had a cavity. All my numbers for everything else have come out good.
And now... this.... thing. This daily avoidance of death.
Some days, it's just... weird.
I'm trying to spend more time working on technique during the drills, because as lovely as it is to hit things really hard, I've gotta improve my form, or... I'm just hitting things really hard. And I'm going to hurt myself.
On the one hand, it's nice to not be *totally* new at this stuff, on the other hand, I realize how sloppy all my kicks and punches have gotten. The more I do it, the more my body remembers, the more I improve. Like anything else, it takes time. As someone who has very little patience, it can be a long slog, but you know, how long and hard would I laugh at somebody who'd never written a story who said, "I'm just going to sit down tonight and write a novel." After all, they've been writing other sorts of things all their lives! Why shouldn't writing a novel be just as easy!? It's just writing! Anybody can write!
Anybody can kick a bag!
Yea.
I was on the bus on the way to the MA school and was digging out a couple of jellybeans to up my sugar before class, and I opened up the pocket of my bag that's got the plastic bag of jellybeans in it, and there was a capped syringe in there, cause that's the pocket I put them in to designate which are used and need to be disposed of at home, and I had this sudden gut-churning revulsion.
Syringes mean sickness. I'm sick.
It still hits me sometimes. I mean, on the one hand, it gets so routine to take your shot at 5:30 am that you do it automatically even on weekends. It's just life. The idea of sitting down to eat without checking sugar feels weird. At the same time, there's this strange dissonance.
The other night, I walked into my room and there on my desk was a capped syringe that I'd forgotten to pop into the coffee can on my desk. And I just stared at it like, "What's *that* doing here?"
There's this strange thing in my life that's not supposed to be here, and at the same time, something I've worked very hard to integrate pretty smoothly into my life, and that I'm dealing with. But... sometimes... it's just so strange.
I suppose it's strange to think of myself as dependent on something I have to shoot up like some kind of junkie. Sickness is not terribly sexy. As somebody who, despite all the ridiculous angst about eating and weight, had always been really strong and healthy. I've never broken a bone. I've never had a cavity. All my numbers for everything else have come out good.
And now... this.... thing. This daily avoidance of death.
Some days, it's just... weird.