So Phil and I went to boxing this morning (just a workout class, not sparring). I made it through a lot more than I thought I would — we did the whole hour and a half — although I thought I was going to quit after twenty minutes of (very sloppy) skipping because when I bang my mutant knee around it feels like I'm holding a grapefruit with the back of my knee for the rest of the day. But I didn't and we both made it through it.
My trainer (on whose urging I went, to address cardio and coordination) who I do mostly weights with, asked me how I like it. I told him I didn't really like it a lot (which isn't quite true, I didn't mind it, but really, I like weights a lot), but that I'd keep going because there are plenty of hot girls in the class… I think she's the instructor's girlfriend so no one repeat this or I may get my ass kicked, but one's got a kind of Denise Richards in Wild Things vibe going on that's really over the top appealing when she's boxing.
I thought it was kind of cool when Marty was dating a boxer (she was really nice too), but now I get the appeal on a different level! I was thinking about it and although I've dated a few people who are crazy-attractive, I don't think I've dated anyone who I'd consider “fit”. Speaking of crazy-attractive hot girls, Rachel is down in Mexico right now on a major race — she's set up a blog and should be posting to it during the race assuming the hotels they stop at have internet access (which has so far been the case).
Man, there's something really, really wrong with me. I can't do anything without sexualizing it, let alone anything physical. I mean, I'm no Michelle, the pass around girl, but I don't think I could be a monk (the pious, celibate sort, full of pure thoughts, not the rapist sort) for more than a few seconds.
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