Hit Me With Your Best Shot

I worked out with Brad yesterday. Here he is, playing Atlas.





It was a fun workout. We started with the 14 pound ball he's holding. I had to throw it at him as hard as I could 10 times, then 9 times followed by using it for an overhead press, on down to 0 throws and 10 presses. Then I had to take the 20 pound ball and throw it as hard as I could across the room 15 times, followed by the 14 pound ball, and then the 10 pound ball. Here I am pressing the 14 pound ball.




Then we boxed, me using gloves and him pads that I hit. Brad has boxed for 8 years, so it was really fun boxing with him, following different patterns. Wow--it hurts your hand, even with padded gloves on. Brad said he's done more training and sparring than actual boxing matches because he doesn't like being hit in the face.

I can understand that. When I was 11 or 12, there was a boy who lived next door who I thought was a sissy (sorry, Chuck, for being so gender-normative). One day he challenged me to a fist fight. I had no interest in a fist fight, but didn't want to look like a coward, especially to Chuck, so we started fighting. It was immediately clear to me that someone had taught Chuck how to fight. He was out-hitting me, although I got some punches in. The fight ended when I got a bloody nose, so I know what it's like to be hit in the face. My mother was really mad: "Your brother never even got involved in a fist fight." As if the standard I needed to follow when doing things normal associated with boys was what my brother had done. As if I had any idea what he had done. I guess my mother was gender-normative, too, although it's pretty amazing how tolerant my parents were with me being a tomboy.

I figured Chuck's dad must have taught him how to box and set the whole thing up. I had had experience with fathers being upset with me being a better athlete than their sons before. When we lived in Two Harbors, I remember Tommy Gow telling me that his father said that when we grew up, Tommy would be able to hit a baseball further than me. I doubted that that was true, but was perplexed that his father had taken an interest in the topic.

I hated that Chuck gave me a bloody nose, but figured I had won because I gave him a black eye--that lasted much longer than my bloody nose. Thankfully with Brad, I was the only one hitting.

Liz and I had a great bike ride today. The weather was beautiful, sunny and in the 60s. On the ay out, we saw an eagle soaring above us. We've never seen one so close to our house-- within 2 miles. On the way back, we saw a red fox in the middle of the road. I love you red fox, as long as you stay away from our chickens.

Yesterday was the annual in-line skating marathon in Duluth, Minnesota. My sister Chris was in it with her grand-daughter Lauren. Here's a picture of them at the finish:




It's very weird that they are the only 2 people in our family in the race. I hope others help to keep the tradition going. In talking to Chris, I remember the feeling of crossing the finish line. It's such an amazing feeling--it is such an accomplishment. The last few miles are really hard--actually, the whole 26.2 miles is a challenge, but in the last few miles, it is such a struggle. Then when I cross the finish line, it's like getting a surge of energy and such an amazing high. I'm bummed I can never do that on blades again, but hope I can have a similar experience in a 50-100 mile bike ride.


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