Exercise is sometimes like corporal punishment. We brutalize our poor little muscles mercilessly in hopes they’ll shape up as fast as possible. We stress and strain them, oftentimes beyond their capacity, and then wonder why they seek revenge the day after, or the day after that. They’re smart little boogers. They can tie you up like a pretzel on crack.
Yes, they’re sneaky little bastards!
Jax’s favorite phrase, “Do twenty more”.
I’d look at him with my best ‘fuck you’ glare.
Twenty more and they’ll be picking out a pine box for me. Twenty more and I might be picking out a pine box for him.
“My fat does not want to do 20 more,” I’d tell him.
He’d glance at my gut knowing this would hit home. I’d cuss him under my breath but start counting.
“One, two, three…” bastard!
By the 12th curl, I’d feel that muscular flame sensation building itself up to bonfire status.
“Why are we using such big weights,” I’d ask while trying desperately to suck in a breath.
“They’re only two pounds,” he’d say.
“Oh,” I’d say turning the weight so I could make sure he wasn’t bullshitting me!
The thing about Jax is that he’s already done all the work he needs to on himself, so he’s well aware of the pain he’s inflicting. Does he emote any sympathy toward me as I struggle through each exercise? Hell no!
 |
| Jax and Bruzer |
I'm intimidated.
ReplyDelete