I'm too old for this...

I've been in a blogging slump all week. Struggling for topics, and time... (always time!) My current time-suck is exercise. (Because God-forbid I should actually make time to write).

The gym beckoned -- actually, it dragged me back into its sweaty clutches kicking and screaming -- but for the sake of my overall health and well being, I desperately needed to get back into some sort of exercise routine. Two weeks in and I'm feeling it.
Oh, not the good-to-be-alive, energy-abound kind of feeling it. Not even the I-worked-so-hard-for-this-satisfying-muscle-ache kind of feeling. I'm talking about the achy joints that have left me limping and popping Advil every 8 hours just to negotiate the stairs at home sort of hurting. This can't be good. I'm only 40!

I pretty much go through life tired. Whether it's the restless kiddies (one or both) or me just having a crap night, I never seem to achieve the Golden 8. More like the Ravaged 5. So going to the gym, mustering the energy needed to pack the bag (hey - it requires BENDING DOWN!) and squeeze my generous ass into workout clothes -- it all takes a certain amount of 'enthusiasm'.
Last week, not wanting to give up after one session, I decided to rely on a little help from my friend Mr. Bull. I just call him Red. BEST WORKOUT I'VE EVER HAD! I was cranking so fast on the bike, the resistance wheel couldn't keep up to me. While Fall Out Boy pounded in my ears, my heart pounded against my chest wall at 153 bpm (that's good, right?) I cranked that puppy for 30 minutes - until my legs began to shake (refer to knee joint probs above) - but it wasn't enough. Time for weights.
I was going to head for the machines - but decided I needed some 'real weights' so headed to the tough-girl area. I passed over the wussy 2, 3, and 5 lbs weights (some skinny chick in short-shorts and a tank were pumping those... puh-lease!) and chose some 10 pounders.
Bicep curl, extend into shoulder press.... Ouch - my left arm is seriously weaker than my right. I need to work on that. And breathe, in-out, right arm up-down, left arm up-down, 12 reps. Left arm beginning to falter. Wipe sweat from brow on shoulder... return weird look from skinny chick in mirror. Breathe, grunt, and... REST. I squatted to put the weights down.
That's when I noticed that they were different in size. I'd had a 10 pounder in my right and a 15 pounder in my left. Ah.
How to make the exchange without earning a skinny-girl smirk...

Blog Block and Good Apples

I've got blog-block. This is closely related to writers block, except worse, because you don't have to stay on topic, true to character or come up with an action/dialogue/sex scene. You just have to ramble! How can this be so hard?
Instead, I'm posting a witty slice of wisdom that my friend Donna (Hi Donna! *waving*) sent me. By the way - Donna doesn't read my blog, so the shout-out was for naught.

Apples and Wine
Women are like apples on trees. The best ones are at the top of the tree. Most men don't want to reach way up there for the good ones because they're frightened of falling and hurting themselves. Instead, they sometimes pick the apples up from the ground that aren't so good, but easy. The apples at the top of the tree think there's something wrong with them, when in reality, they're amazing. They just have to wait for the right man to come along, who is brave enough to climb all the way to the top.
Now men . . . men are like fine wine. They start out as grapes and it's up to women to stomp the shit out of them until they turn into something acceptable to have dinner with.