Whine, whine, grumble. . .

I have discovered what C.H.C. stands for: Clutz Hasno Coordination.

Today was day 2 of an enhanced interrogation routine known as P90X. This torture session lasts 90 days. [Please, please, I'll tell you anything you want to know, just stop! What? You want me to say, "Bring it"? Okay, I can do that: bring it. No, No, I did what you wanted, stop, please, stop!]

We did the Cardio X workout today. It was not as bad (from a cardio standpoint) as I thought it would be. And that's because most of the day I was standing slack-jawed, watching it rather than doing it, trying to figure out and then mimic the chief torturer's moves. This is when it was brought home to me that I Hasno Coordination. [Okay, that was jab, cross, hook, uppercut? Which foot is in front? Wait, wait, stop! What do I do with my hips? Which hand am I jabbing with? No, no, slow down! Which foot is in front? My left? Which one is my left? Oh brother. Cross, hook, jab? No, that's not right. . . What? We're done? But I haven't started yet!]

It wasn't bad, it was just sad. Really put me in my place. I will never show my face in an exercise place again, except perhaps as the fat guy restocking the Twinky machine.

And I also damaged something [something besides my self-esteem, that is].  Some thang in my right hip thang. You got to watch those kicks. You know how they teach you not to bounce when you are doing toe touches [actually for me, they're knee touches] because the momentum might cause you to strain a ligament? Well, let me tell you: once you get that leg moving in a snappy kick, the momentum might carry it beyond where it is capable of going. Uh-huh. Heard, felt, something pop followed by a lot of pain. Missed most of that exercise, too, walking out the pain.

The good news, sort of, is that while I was desparately trying to figure out the moves in another routine about ten minutes later, which also involved kicks, I did it AGAIN.

Now, why, you ask, is that good news?

Oh, that's simple. Because, whatever I destroyed in the first kick, I evidently have more of to destroy. Think of it this way: maybe your leg is connected to your body with, like, four rubber band thangs. I only blew out two of them -- still able to walk, hurray! Got two more to blow out before I'll be looking for the wheelchair version of P90X.