Sunday, April 3, 2011


I'm in half-decent shape these days, but I've been looking to diversify my exercise activities and do something else than just running. My potential activities are limited, though because, while I do have eyes, and I do have hands, the nerves that would normally provide the connection between them apparently got re-allocated by my body for other, more important priorities. This is probably why I am able to wiggle my ears so well.

I'm particularly inept at throwing balls, mostly because my fingers haven't figure out the right time in the hurling motion to actually let go. And when I throw a frisbee, it often heads ninety degrees from where I was intending to throw it. I have a lot of friend who play ultimate frisbee, who try to get me to sign up too, and I have to explain that they are better off without me on their team. Move the goal lines to the side of the field and then we'll talk. (On a mostly unrelated note, I know that if you shorten the name of the game, players prefer that you refer to it as "ultimate," but I like being contrary, so FRISBEE FRISBEE FRISBEE it is.)

For those of you have been reading this blog for a while -- I am still working on trying to do a pull-up, and I've made decent progress. David has also made decent progress, in not giving himself a concussion on the pull-up bar every time he walks through the doorway. Back in February, when we had our annual furnace maintenance done, the furnace technician royally clocked himself on the pull-up bar, which is in the doorway leading to the furnace room. He found a problem with the furnace and his services wound up being much, much more expensive than originally anticipated, and while I don't necessarily think that was in retribution for the traumatic brain injury he incurred at our house, I can't help but wonder. I would feel a little bit sorry for him for his injury, but his name was Wayne. I can't feel sorry for anybody named Wayne.

So I've been keeping my eyes open for some additional form of exercise to supplement running, and I think I found something. Stella goes to tumbling at a little kid gym, and they have a back-handspring clinic every Saturday afternoon, for what the gym calls "all ages, all abilities." Doesn't that sound fun? Now, if you asked me if I have a gymnastics background, I would say no, except that the word "no" doesn't really contain enough no-ness to fully explain my gymnastics non-experience. I told my sister about the clinic, who said in amazement, "They teach you to do a back handspring in just one hour?" and again, the word "no" was insufficient to actually answer the question. We need a word that magnifies the meaning of the word "no" by a billion, so that it becomes a black hole of no-ness that annihilates any nearby molecule of yes-ness. This is one of the few times I wish William Safire was still alive.

But I think it would be a great workout to do some gymnastics, even if I am not 4 ft 9 and 86 lbs. I think that attending a back handspring clinic could at worst offer some great conditioning activity with only a moderate dose of humiliation, and at best could open up a whole new world of athletics that I haven't been exposed to before. I think a lot will depend on the teacher we have. I'm hoping it's not a guy named Wayne.

No comments:

Post a Comment