I worked out for the first time today since I overdid it trying to beat that old lady with a cane in the race and ended up flat on my back for 2 weeks from the strain. It felt great to be sweatin’ it out again, pumpin’ up the music on my MP3 player and reawakening the muscles or more realistically muscle that had been sleeping and decomposing for the past few weeks.
This past weekend Dan and I watched Darkon, a documentary about people who spend their spare time building armor, playing Dungeons and Dragons, and acting out epic battles. Although they take things WAY further than I’ve ever considered taking them, there was something appealing about the way they live out their dreams with such abandon.
I think an active fantasy life is super important and when I’m on an adrenalin high after around 36 minutes of working out, my mind starts to drift and imagine all sorts of crazy fun things. I used to exercise for the recommended 30 minutes and wondered why everyone talked about getting a “high” but once when I accidentally went overtime, I found that my high doesn’t come until minute 36 or 37. It’s NICE.
So today I was working out on the elliptical trainer next to a spastic tween boy who kept flailing his arm out to the side and whacking me with his hand. I’m in the zone. I’m sweating. THWACK! “Sorry.” I’m working back into it. I’m in the zone. I’m sweating. My eyes are closed. I can feel the fat melting off me. THWACK! “Sorry.”
I was worried that the high would never come amidst the beating I was taking but luckily the boy gave up around minute 31 and I was able to crank up the tunes and meld my mind with the sweat. And it came and as usual my imagination ran wild. When the high comes, I always imagine myself as thin, fast and gazelle like. This time however, Dan was part of my fantasy. I spent the last 10 minutes of my workout beating the cheese out of Dan at basketball in my mentals. I mopped the FLOOR with him. He grinned in shock as I pivoted around the court sinking 3-pointer after 3-pointer and dribbling through his legs and around him at light-speed.
If you’d ever seen me play basketball, you’d know why this was such a ridiculous fantasy. Generally my best contribution to any basketball team is fouling out. I use my brute strength and lack of knowledge of the finer points of the game, such as the rules, in order to shove around the other team, allowing the real players to shine. Then I get thrown out of the game before I have the chance to do any real damage to our score. It works nicely.
I really dominated him though, slaughtered him with a great and vicious slaughter and it felt OH-SO-GOOD. Maybe this stems from our real life interactions. Lately I’ve been playing a pretty mean game of Dr. Mario. Even with a handicap, Dan is woefully unskilled at this mindless Nintendo version of Tetris. I wow him with my cat-like reflexes and thumbs of steel.
But I’d like to take this to the next level with some serious physical domination, get the chance to whip out a b-ball at the next family gathering and take him by surprise as I soar through the air over his head and dunk it in a way that would make Shaq stand back on his fat feet and say, “GIRL! Where did you cultivate those fine and skillish skeelz?”
I think it’s time to look for an old basketball hoop on freecycle to hang on the back of the shed… once we build a shed.