Boxing Epilogue

So... I went back for more today.  Dummy.

www.qoolio.net

I attended a boxing class this morning whereas yesterday I had a private lesson.  Let's just say my friends, I found myself in a whole new world...

I wrapped up my hands like a big girl, pretty sure I was doing it all wrong but not willing to look like I was a beginner.  Thanks be to the Sweet Baby Jesus I chose to wear the black top instead of the pink one I left laying on the closet floor.  Although the purple shoelaces were definitely a good choice.  Think mostly ninja with purple accents. That was me.

There were six full grown really sweaty men and one extremely red faced crazy lady with purple shoelaces in our class.  We started with 5 minutes of jump rope but my gimpy ankles garnered me sprints on the ancient bicycle instead.  I guiltily watched them make mince meat of 5 minutes.  On a good ankle day I have trouble counting to 50 jumps without landing some heinous lashes to my body but those dudes had mad skills.  There was a lot of criss-cross and double unders and all sorts of fancy speed steppin.'  Clearly this wasn't their first rodeo.

When Bruce finally got off his phone, I was exhausted from watching the men jump rope and trying not to cry about how painful the bike seat was.  Then we all got into the ring for shadow boxing in front of the mirrors.  I only know one step and a few swings, add in the feinting and that's all I've got folks.  I did my best to stay out of the other guys way and hoped no one was watching my pinata get all hot, red and drippy. 

I'm not gonna lie...  When Bruce instructed them to start sparring two at a time, I was a little frightened.  My 'Boxing is TOTALLY AWESOME' bubble came crashing to the ground.  It was like tires squealing to a halt when it dawned on me that one day I might actually get hit in the kisser. 

REALLY?  HOW COULD I HAVE MISSED THAT PART? 

www.sportsencounter.com/news/boxing/pakistani-boxers-to-feature-in-combat-games-8192.html

I am a little ashamed to admit that in that moment of abject terror my next thought was:  Is it too late to get a refund!? 

I spent the next 10 minutes praying that he wouldn't make me spar with one of his man beasts and alternately that they wouldn't stomp me into the mats as they sparred RIGHT beside us. 

Jesus heard my prayers and/or Bruce could hear the potential lawsuits stacking up against him and I was not asked to spar with any giant man beasts before we moved on to the bags.  Ahhhh!  My good  friend Mister Punching Bag.  The bag that would never smack me in the head or knock a freshly bleached tooth from my sweaty little head.  How I missed thee!

Bruce changed up his taunting tactics and opted for Sissy Britches today instead of Prissy Pants.  He told the men that maybe they'd box better in stilettos and skirts seeing as they sucked so badly in their tennis shoes.  He used a lot more humour with me than he did with his men.  Which is good.  I might actually cry. 

The best part of the entire class was when Bruce squirted each of us with icy water from a spray bottle.  He said, "Good Lord girl.  We need to wash some of that color off your face."

To which I replied, "Fat chance Brucey.  Them's my unfortunate Irish genes."

After endless boxing drills we finished with real sprints outside for the men folk and more bicycle sprints for Gimpy ankle girl.  I opted for higher resistance so I could stand up instead of risking my girlie bits to that rabid bicycle seat.  All in all it was a good old fashioned ass kicking.  We finished with another 10 minutes of core and all together I burned 946 calories. 

In an hour and a half I lost (I swear to God because I weighed myself before and after) exactly 8 ounces of water through my knee caps.  I looked around for comparison purposes and it seemed like I was the only one with dripping knees and shins.  Neat.

So!  Can you guess what my new mantra is?

Original mantra:  BOXING IS AWESOME!

New mantra:  Please Sweet Jesus, DO NOT let me cry ;)

Sweet Baby Jesus and the F Bomb

Sweet Baby Jesus and the F Bomb

So I shall forever hold hope in my heart that my funny stories can and will, one day become profitable…  And I think I might have figured out how, with the help of my most favorite and dearest Sister.  (How do you like that shout out?)

So Sister says she actually knows (like really actually ‘knows’)
people that have accomplished this seemingly magical feat.

She says, “They talk a LOT about Jesus and their children and make lots of money.  Like, 30 or 40 thousand dollars a MONTH worth of money on those advertisements.”

So I shook my head in disbelief muttering, “There’s no effing way!” And in the same breath immediately proceeded to cover my blog in advertisements.

I promise those same ads will be much less obnoxious when we are partying at my lake house or yachting together in the Caribbean. Be patient. It’s a virtue. If you happen to see mine please send it home. I can’t remember the last time she and I had any quality time together.

After just one blog I’ve had such a HUGE positive response. I have quickly jumped to the conclusion that frankly, I’m funny as shit and people like the shocking use of a well-placed F word. I think this really is my ticket to popularity (and dollar bills yall)!

I realize I don’t have chil’ren and this puts me at a distinct disadvantage. Cute kiddie mugs really jack up the ratings. But what I DO have, is the F Bomb (and really cute dogs).

And that leads us to our next question. How does Jesus play into all of this crazy conclusion jumping and moneymaking? (Bible Thumpers- DeFib) With more crazy conclusions of course. My Dear Lord Baby Jesus actually approves of the F Bomb. Seriously. Do you think He sits up There all day with no sense of humor? Does He NOT have better things to worry about than these supposed ‘Bad’ words?

In all certainty Jesus is sitting up There right now watching a big screen TV, munching the most amazing kettle corn imaginable, occasionally Himself yelling,  WHAT  THE  FAACK  are My idiot children doing!? Especially if  He catches the traffic in Texas… Or worse, tries to watch an Aggie Football game.

(If this last paragraph offends, I do sincerely apologize and invite you to take the stick out of your hiney and follow a less controversial blogger. Which, incase you were a little confused, will not be me, XO)

And that is how I know The Sweet Baby Jesus approves of the F Bomb. Perhaps not a totally fail-safe way of garnering blog supporters but, eh…. Whatcha gonna do? I, for one am going to praise the Good Lord Jesus, post smashingly cute dog photos, use the F Bomb a lot, and have a blast.