Right now, I can barely move my upper body, because I decided to visit a grand opening event a couple miles from our house for a Crossfit gym, mainly because the flyer said there’d be BBQ and popsicles. Like anyone else who’s got a Facebook or Instagram account, I’d heard of it (as in “I was sick of the bragging about one’s workouts and perceived cult membership”). My lone experience with this form of exercising came in 2007 while deployed to Balad, Iraq. My shoulders were so badly injured after 1 workout that I was in agony for nearly 2 weeks, almost breaking down and seeking medical care for them (but going to the doctor for muscle soreness is for the weak, so I’d never do that). I told that to Dave, the owner of the facility I visited, and he said the first several weeks are spent in an “elements” class in which we learn technique and don’t get so physically destroyed that we contemplate seeing a doctor. So, I joined. It’s hard, but it’s more fun than lifting weights, and it’s forcing me to engage in high intensity exercising, something I haven’t done in a decade (since my old kickboxing gym flooded and closed). I think it’s good for me. But it hurts. Not so badly I’m seeing a doctor, however. At least, not for that.
I also decided that, now that it’s been 12 years since my friend Shane slept next to me in a tent in Iraq for 5 months and told me I was snoring so badly that I must have sleep apnea or something, I should get it checked out. Or rather, after I posted a picture of a SleepBot app reading on Instagram and was told I should see a doctor, I made an appointment. See? Not good.
I spent 3 nights hooked up to probes on my chest and lap, a nose cannula, and an O2 sensor on my left index finger. I find out what the readings were on Monday. While finding out something’s wrong with me is certainly not something to look forward to, potentially ridding myself of fatigue, irritability, and great difficulty with concentration + focus certainly is.
I also tried a comedy improvisation class at Whole World Theater. It was a Saturday workshop. I once visited an evening class a few years ago, and I performed in front of my Leadership Sandy Springs class last year when the troupe that was entertaining us asked if anyone wanted to volunteer for a skit, but I’d never paid for a class, though I’ve wanted to for nearly 20 years. It was harder than I thought it’d be (since my impromptu performance in front of my classmates was pretty easy), but I really enjoyed it; I think the difficulty was due to not knowing the other people there (my classmates) and not having an audience (knowing I have to perform is motivating and invigorating). I’d love to do it regularly when/if I can make the time. Here’s one of my classmates and I in an “office” set on the stage:
I’m hiring an associate attorney; she starts next week. I really can’t afford an attorney who depends on me for a salary, a workload, and training, but I can’t very well advance as a firm if I don’t hire one. So, I pulled the trigger. We’ll see how that goes.
I participated in a canning workshop with my bride at Preserving Place. This wasn’t something I’ve felt I needed (or wanted) to do, but we won it at a charity silent auction, and she really wanted to do it, so we went. I liked it. The class had about 10 women and me in attendance, and we made apple butter that was awesome and learned how to put vegetables into jars and seal them so that we can eat them later without puking our guts out from botulism. Seems like a worthwhile skill to have. Here we are with our instructor:
I cancelled cable this week, because TV is stupid, and we weren’t really watching it anyway.
In between now and June, I’m planning to take the children back to Tuscaloosa for the spring “A Day” game, and we’re taking them on their first trip out West a couple weekends later. We might even get to ski. The weekend after that, my youngest will turn 5. The last weekend of May, I’m supposed to spend a weekend at a remote lake in North Carolina with a bunch of friends I’ve had since elementary school. The weekend after that, I turn 40. Hopefully, I’ll be better rested, fitter, funnier, and more equipped to preserve food than I was a month ago.