Torture

It’s been a little while, hasn’t it?

Things have conspired against my writing, like the world and the shit state it’s currently in. But it looks like that’s nearing some kind of conclusion (remarkable how low expectations are set when you’ve got COVID-19 *and* a narcissistic man-child with psychopathic tendencies running the country once thought to be the leader of the free world).

Things actually started brightening up when we finished installing the gym my son bought and started the weekly torture sessions.

the torture chamber
Where the pain lives

This is admittedly a nice set up. In addition to the bar and weights there are tension bands, a battle rope and a bunch of small barbells and other things I have no names for. And a bench not in this picture.

Every Sunday afternoon we are locked in the garage and forced to go through a specific set of tortures designed, apparently, to make us “more fit”.

At least that’s what he says.

It was all legs last weekend. Split squats. Crab walks with bands around your upper thighs. Other things I’ve completely blocked from my memory.

“This’ll hurt tomorrow,” he said.

“Why wait?” I replied as I crawled across the floor to get to my water.

Honestly though, this, in combination with a healthier (and slightly smaller) choice of foods, and I’ve lost 5 kg over the past 5 – 6 weeks.

The slightly smaller selection of foods is directly related to how painful it is walking to the kitchen.

I’ll attempt updates more frequent than once every (counts on fingers) seven months.

And let me know — do you think we’re getting closer to the other side of this? Lie to me if you have to.

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  1. Pingback: It Continues – Writings on the Beach

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