I was cruising along,
Not a care in the world
No COVID worries,
No indecision by our leaders,

I decided to reach back to my past,
I think I was inspired by a quote I read,
“The past is never gone, “something like that, credit to Faulkner,
But the reach was only a few years ago when CrossFit was my thing
And given that I was not caring today, I decided to try a WOD.

The details of the workout don’t matter,
It kicked my apathetic butt,
So much so that I leashed my dog to a kettlebell,
Grabbed a beach chair, sat with him, and let sweat puddle under me.
Man, did it feel good.

There was no talking about schools,
No political ads,
Nothing to incite any violence.
It was wonderful, peaceful,
Just the way things ought to be.

A quick shower,
A little lunch, some laughter about misinterpreted song lyrics,
And some important historical knowledge dropped my way,
Credit goes to Kareem.
Then came the long, slow afternoon.

Twitter, local news, cable news,
A three-headed monster.
Email, Zoom, scam phones calls,
A brother, sister, or cousin of the three-headed monster.
Aggravation began to set in.

Thankfully, an awesome dinner broke the cycle,
Chicken and mashed potatoes soothe a soul.
Baseball’s on and I’m physically wasted the way I like after HIIT,
Back to not caring about s#%t, and
Waiting for the perfect time to go to bed.


woman wearing white karati g under blue sky
Photo by Caleb Oquendo on Pexels.com

Back in my youth,
When my hair was brown,
After blonde and before white,
I was into Bruce Lee’s movies.
I bought into his attitude,
An assassin’s confidence, a
Not taking any grief from anyone, but
Also, a way where he would avoid
Confrontation until there was
No other choice.

His acrobatics, tactics, and mannerisms
Spoke to me and for a while had me thinking
I might someday be a martial arts kind of kid.
Baseball and basketball won out on that one
And eventually, Bruce would kind of fade away
Until a couple of years ago
When I read a book of his journals.
I knew then that I needed to martial a little more energy
And get myself back into a fitness mindset
Before middle age engulfed me completely.
Since then, I’m back, trying new things,
Working on lazy arms in swimming,
Plopping feet when running, and
Over the handlebar fears while biking.

Somewhere back there is the cry of Bruce Lee
Just before he drops a hammer on someone,
Somehow full of remorse for the beat down,
Yet totally at peace with what befell his enemy.

This morning I found myself working out in a pool,
Full-on body combat, HIIT in the water, although,
My energy for the weights was a bit lacking,
Partly because my suit couldn’t handle jumping from the water,
A little because I was kind of lazy.
I was down with the class because the instructor
Knows how to heard cats and she gave me good suggestions
To fix an old shoulder issue even though I was the only dog in class.
Four of the five were going hard, dog-paddling would describe me,
And as we did mountain climbers
Bruce Lee came back to consciousness.
The instructor, a devilish one, a wake producing swimmer,
Went full linear with her kick to the back
And took out an old ninja getting ready for an attack from the other lane.

Truth is, the dude was just swimming laps,
And he drifted into a kick like the one Kareem put on Bruce Lee
In Bruce’s last movie.
If the concussive force of the hit didn’t fill his goggles up with water,
He should consider himself a lucky man.
I feel like a survived, too,
For I drank about two and a half gallons of pool water
When the guy bobbed to the surface.

I hope this episode makes it to the group’s journal
Of eternal chi. The energy making life great,
Except for the ninja, of course.

Committed (Part 1) was posted earlier today if you want to check it out.

Sometimes a day gets in the way
Of writing in the moment.
On this day when I got to go all out on kind of burpees,
I had hoped that I would write just after
My first glam HIIT class.

Instead, there were emails,
Uniforms to collect,
Answering of delicate questions like what I think about
Abortion and Trump and
The lighter and infinitely more personal,
“Do you like tacos with chorizo?”

“Is there any other way?”
A good answer, I thought.

But back to being committed,
This morning was, “committed” in the sense of a mental institution,
Crazy, deranged, insane,
All terms that might be assigned to people waking and
Doing a class of high intensity interval training.
Come on, admit it, swimming, running, lifting,
Those don’t sound so bad in the early morning hours
Before the sun rises.

Tabata, lunges, burpees, and push-ups until your arms wear out?

So there I was, on a Friday in the dark,
Getting ready to run a few less miles (see what I did there)
In a gym with about ten or twelve others,
All women and almost all older than my half plus century (or so).
Why? Why was I there?
Because despite my gruff exterior, absence of caring for most stuff, and
Frequent self-absorption, I can support a friend
On a quest to make a change.
Besides, misery and company is one thing,
Suffering, bitching, and laughing is how we roll. Bad student alert!!

(Of which I am, go read Committed (Part 1) for elaboration).

Momma said, “Be careful what you say,”
So I’ll leave commentary about class alone,
Let it be known, though, that I sweated a lot, got my heart rate up, and
Became the insolent little snit that succeeded in high school,
Made it through college a few times, and now feels free to offer commentary
On whatever bullshit hypocrisy exists
When people try to teach me something… Too duchy?

Then again, it’s also fun
Trying to figure out if Buffett, Nine Inch Nails, and the Little River Band
Can be put on a station called Yacht Rock.
Some would argue that Bob Marley would have to be included,
But I’d nix that and suggest the reggae contribution come from Tosh or Isaacs.
Maybe Committed Rock would be better…

Still though, after such an intense class, the craziness running through our veins
Led to visions of angry roosters attacking giant fathers with their young offspring,
Dogs with more bite than bark, and 100,000 maniacs camping on a plantation.
Sounds like another band for the committed rock station.

I’m not too sure what happened between deciding to go to class and its end,
A few things were reaffirmed,
Somehow I know the words to that pump up the jam song,
I’m not a fan of choreographed fitness classes, and
I have some good friends.

One of them who is in fitness-favor dire straits this summer. (Sinister laughing…)

How about that, another band for the station.