354 Days

Monday has reared its ugly head. But I had a phenomenal weekend of new activities. On Friday, my personal trainer (aka my husband) suggested we go to the community center gym over lunch. He's frequented the gym and pals around with the retired crowd on weekdays. Claude made me a 45-minute full body workout that awakened muscles I'd neglected.

My lats were bruised by the handled red band. My abdomen took a beating from the Paloff press. I can't even discuss the suffering my hamstrings endured from a couple ambitious Romanian deadlifts. A full body beat down; that's what happens when you estrange yourself from workout equipment for so long. In my defense, I was (and still am) recovering from a concussion that prevented me from throwing a barbell above my head, as I once did.

My work email stayed gloriously silent on Friday afternoon so I spent two hours hurling my body weight around at the gym before a nice shower and 3pm nap. My partner attempted a chicken thigh bread pudding-esque dish from Nigel Slater's Eat. He was distraught over the consistency of the bread pudding/polenta part and called for a second opinion. After reading the recipe, I swiftly diagnosed his dish—he'd used dried bread crumbs when it demanded "soft white bread crumbs." I think even Gordon Ramsay would've consoled him after seeing his crestfallen face as he limply stirred the pudding.

Now, I am an experienced meat masher and know that "soft white bread crumbs" are a hand-torn delicacy for loaf and ball meat dishes. My dear husband was unfamiliar with bread crumb varietals. Nonetheless, I joyfully spooned and shoveled food into my gullet, expressing notes of wonder and awe. I offered platitudes of, "You tried your best, honey. How were you, a recently domesticated male, to know about different bread crumbs. You're just a victim of the system, my love."

We guffawed over the new season five premiere of Clarkson's Farm before bed. On Saturday morning, my husband forced my toes into the gallows. Let me explain. The trials and tribulations of my feet include bunions, excessive blistering after running, toe nail bruising and plantar fasciitis, to boot. As a responsible adult concerned with my own health and longevity, I outsourced the research and remedies to my partner. He's steadfastly supported me through many Cinderella montages in the running shoe stores. The damn slippers don't fit around me strange contorted toes, making me feel more the ogre than the princess.

Therefore, his diligence in finding a solution to my pedal woes was touching; it also included a bit of humiliation. For your sake, and to avoid digital censure, I've omitted images of my feet.

I wore the spacers for the prescribed 30 minutes and it wasn't horrible.

We attended Coexistence Day at our local farmer's market and learned about:

• cougars: female cougars will caterwaul for a mate
• snails and slugs: they are hermaphroditic
• bats: female bats eat their weight in bugs every night
• bears: brown bears have 2 - 4 inch claws, compared to the 1 - 2 inch black bear claws
• healthy streams: they're filled with bugs for the salmon and trout to eat

We dashed around town on errands and then to the book sale at our local library. I snagged a Georgia O'Keefe biography. I finally finished the Ruth Asawa biography and am on now devouring Ninth Street Women. I jumped rope as part of a circuit workout at the gym and then rewarded myself with basketball. Basketball was my first love. I played ball for years until quitting in 9th grade from the competitive pressure.

Later on Saturday, we met friends for an outdoor circus performance and card games at the local brewery. The most impressive act was when they stacked four big chairs and three teeny chairs on top of each other and then a full-grown man hand stood on top of them. The acrobats incited wonder and awe. I spoke at length with a paragliding instructor about his many cross-state and international flights. I've considered launching myself off a mountain and was further reassured when the pilot said, "We always have a back up parachute." A second chance at life! I yearn for a second chance of my weekend; but alas, I am off to work.