The Burrow

Let's work out on Saturday morning.  Call me when you are on your way and I will meet you there.  I will warm up on the recumbent bike while you impress me with your speed on something and then we can see what we are capable of accomplishing with the weights.   That is part of the email I just sent to Amster.  Between me getting shot and she preparing and then trying her first case as first chair, the months have flown by.  She'd given up her gym membership around the holidays when she was saving for a down payment but life has intervened and the house search is on hold and we are both uncomfortable in our own skins. We did this once before and we can do it again. It will require discipline and determination and, as Amster barked it, that Army mojo .  We are good for one another in that way; we don't allow excuses.  When we are working out we are committed to the process.  We keep track of repetitions and the number of plates on the bar and we ro...

I'm pushing myself once again.  It's a struggle not unlike those I watch on Biggest Loser or listen to from the mouths of my friends and my mother.  It hurts.  It's not fun.  I want to do that  but my body does this.  And I'm not making any progress at all. Or so it seems.  Those who see me infrequently are amazed at my speed and my posture and my attitude, but day to day it's often hard to focus on the little gains which are really quite remarkable I know but....  There's always a but , isn't there.   But  I'm not balanced.   But I'm teetering from side to side. But  it hurts.   But  what if I fall?   And, perhaps the worst one of all, but  what difference will it make if I take today off? A roadrunner just zipped across the front yard and has settled into the shade under the mesquite tree across the street.  My camera is right here.  The weather is fine.  It's a picture ready to be ...