Thursday, June 26, 2014

Her Special Day.

Today’s a very special day. Not for me - well, not directly anyway – but for someone very special to me. Join me in wishing her a great big “Happy birthday” to my lovely wife and muse, Mrs C!
She wears glasses now. She totally rocks them too.
I know. I know. You love her too. What, with her cute antics and witty retorts, what’s not to love?

But, you know? We wish each other a happy birthday all the time. We say it to friends, family and coworkers whenever that special day rolls around but when it’s for the person who means more to you than anyone, how are the same words you use for everyone else good enough?

I've been told I’m good with words and there are probably a million things I could say if I stopped to think about it. Still, none of those words could come close to representing how grateful I am for you being put here on this Earth and while I could bore you and the rest of the internet with pages and pages of words to express how appreciative I am that I have you (and considering the financial constraints, frilly words are all I can afford right now anyway), I guess sometimes the simplest ways are best. So, to the second half of this comedy duo, my second half, I wish you the happiest of birthdays and I that you have many, many more to come...

...And that I’m right there beside you for all of them.

Happy birthday, babe.

Friday, June 13, 2014

So... It Turns Out I Might Be A Masochist.

I suppose, if you've been hanging around here long enough, eventually seeing a post with a title like the one above won't really come as a shock. In fact, a few of you may think my admission of something like this is long overdue. Unfortunately, you're going to have to wait a little longer for me to admit to my twisted sexual tastes. I guess you'll just have to use your imaginations. Actually, don't. Forget I said that. I've hung around some of your places a while too and I'd rather not be a part of some of your own twisted imaginations.

Well... maybe a few of you...

My confession is nowhere as interesting as the post would lead you believe (no shocker there). Truth is, I'm hoping by the time you got to this part and realized this post contains no stories of whips, ball-gags and leather unitards, you'll decide to continue reading just out of the sheer principle of finishing something you've already started.

Which would probably make some of you the real masochists here.

Anyway, I digress (no shocker there either). One of the updates I neglected to pass on is that I restarted the gym a few months back.

I know, right?! How could I leave something like that out?

But not just any gym, mind you. The gym. The place where I first started learning Thai boxing back in secondary school.
source
The place I've tried to make time to rejoin but made every excuse not to could never get the timing right to get back into it. This is the gym where I was so pushed to my limits, physically, I likened the instructor's training technique to sadomasochism.

And now the title makes sense.

Of course, there have been some changes to the old place, over the years. New students, new equipment, bigger training area and all that. But, at it's core, it's still the same old place where you train hard and develop an unnatural affection for pain... and the guy in charge likes to occasionally sneak up behind you, flip you and send you flying through the air, just for the heck of it. I'm already getting back to my old form and keeping up with guys more than half my age... realizing there are now students there more than half my age training there now... feeling a little bummed by this fact...

Still, I am keeping up with them so I guess that counts for something. Plus, one time, one of the guys saw me practicing my kicks on the bag and insisted he be allowed to wear extra padding when he was told to spar with me. I've always wondered what it's like to be feared.

I like it.
This bag is actually the oldest one there. He keeps it far in the back where I have plenty of "alone time" with it.
I swear it looked like that before I got there. Honest!
All that being said. I have been reintroduced to the pain I had long forgotten. The first few weeks especially were rough and I spent a lot of time trying not to move very much. But... I kept going back... I keep going back! It's almost as if I enjoy this violent abuse being inflicted upon my body. I-I'm allowing people to hit me and they let me hit them back.

And I like it...

Maybe the title of this post is more appropriate than I thought. Come to think of it, I do get this special feeling of power when I strap on my leather training gloves.

By the way, if you're worrying about me regaling you with constant gym pics and posts, don't expect much more than this post. I did wait five months to actually let you all know I was back there to begin with so I think you don't need to worry.