(no subject)

While I desperately desire to regain my pre-winter (and pre-2006) fitness level, perhaps I ought not to push so hard. I taught the 8 a.m. and had already arranged to cover the 5:15 later this evening. What then, I wonder, made me think it would be a good idea to take Trish's 9:15? Perhaps it was the rush of energy that follows a good class. Perhaps it was the vague notion that I'd promised myself I would make more of an effort to take control of my health, my fitness, my weight. Perhaps it was the wee voice in my head saying, "So, Princess Jigglypants. You gonna sit here and eat your apple and peanut butter or are you going to do something about those thighs? I'm not even going to mention the back fat."

Whatever the impetus, I grabbed the portable phone and claimed the heavy bag closest to the office - just in case someone called. By the way, no one did. For most of that hour I was praying someone - anyone- would.

Now, I'd been up since 6:30 and hadn't had anything other then a couple of glasses of water. I was running on adrenaline and bouncy-Kel. Also, if I haven't mentioned this, Trish's classes are challenging. Seriously. Ten minutes in, I was questioning the wisdom of my decision. I suppose I could have given up and ducked back into the office. Everyone there knows I'm an instructor, though, so wussing out would be unforgivably pathetic. I stuck it out, and I'm glad I did. It was an excellent class and I really had to push to get through.

Of course, there were only two people at the 5:15, so I couldn't slack off one whit. Ah, well. What doesn't kill you makes you badass.

(no subject)

While I desperately desire to regain my pre-winter (and pre-2006) fitness level, perhaps I ought not to push so hard. I taught the 8 a.m. and had already arranged to cover the 5:15 later this evening. What then, I wonder, made me think it would be a good idea to take Trish's 9:15? Perhaps it was the rush of energy that follows a good class. Perhaps it was the vague notion that I'd promised myself I would make more of an effort to take control of my health, my fitness, my weight. Perhaps it was the wee voice in my head saying, "So, Princess Jigglypants. You gonna sit here and eat your apple and peanut butter or are you going to do something about those thighs? I'm not even going to mention the back fat."

Whatever the impetus, I grabbed the portable phone and claimed the heavy bag closest to the office - just in case someone called. By the way, no one did. For most of that hour I was praying someone - anyone- would.

Now, I'd been up since 6:30 and hadn't had anything other then a couple of glasses of water. I was running on adrenaline and bouncy-Kel. Also, if I haven't mentioned this, Trish's classes are challenging. Seriously. Ten minutes in, I was questioning the wisdom of my decision. I suppose I could have given up and ducked back into the office. Everyone there knows I'm an instructor, though, so wussing out would be unforgivably pathetic. I stuck it out, and I'm glad I did. It was an excellent class and I really had to push to get through.

Of course, there were only two people at the 5:15, so I couldn't slack off one whit. Ah, well. What doesn't kill you makes you badass.

(no subject)

Kitty relations are deteriorating. Tom is growing more energetic, more aggressive. He's a young cat; I believe this springs from wanting to play. Trouble is, the older girls are bearing the brunt of it. It's come to the point where they're too freaked out to go downstairs to use the litterbox. This is bad. Very, very bad.

I don't know what to do. Throwing Tom back outside is not an option. He's not a bad cat, he's just very large, energetic and young. If the older girls run, he's going to chase. He actually tackled Jilly last night. She has a scratch on her nose and she hid in our bedroom ALL DAY. Isabeau's hiding in the basement most of the time, and her digestive system is a mess.

At this point, our options are narrowing to 1. find a new home for the boy (and good luck there) and 2. declaw and chill-out meds (if I can get a vet to agree and if I can bring myself to be so harsh).




This is not cool.

(no subject)

Kitty relations are deteriorating. Tom is growing more energetic, more aggressive. He's a young cat; I believe this springs from wanting to play. Trouble is, the older girls are bearing the brunt of it. It's come to the point where they're too freaked out to go downstairs to use the litterbox. This is bad. Very, very bad.

I don't know what to do. Throwing Tom back outside is not an option. He's not a bad cat, he's just very large, energetic and young. If the older girls run, he's going to chase. He actually tackled Jilly last night. She has a scratch on her nose and she hid in our bedroom ALL DAY. Isabeau's hiding in the basement most of the time, and her digestive system is a mess.

At this point, our options are narrowing to 1. find a new home for the boy (and good luck there) and 2. declaw and chill-out meds (if I can get a vet to agree and if I can bring myself to be so harsh).




This is not cool.