But, alas, they have gotten better, the workouts have become easier. I'd just rather drink copious amounts of cheap vodka and talk about whether the demise of Martin Brodeur in both the Olympics and the 5-game rout the Flyers laid on him in the first round, tarnishes his legacy than have to do 298 push-ups in 52 minutes. (For the record, it doesn't tarnish shit. He is the greatest goalie to ever play the game minus Felix Potvin who, like Bobby Orr, had injuries shorten his career making you ask and wonder, 'what if'?**). Weekend distractions aside, we trucked and mucked through both of these workouts efficiently and with ease. But, like I said in the last blog, it's not exactly surprising that after doing these individual workouts upwards of 15 times, we have gotten better. It's a law of human nature: do something a lot and you will get better. (The Leafs' prospects over the last 15 years - Kim Johnnson anyone? - are apparently a glaring exception to this rule.) So, really, the interesting question is, what else has gotten better?
Well, my mirror has officially taken over my computer-screen as the thing I masturbate in front of. So, that's good. I aslo find myself purposely wearing sweaters without a zipper down the middle, so when I take them off it's like a curtain slowly rising, unveiling my gleeming, sparkly, aneurysm-inducing, hard-cheese grating, mid-section. It's like watching Cirque de Soleil on mushrooms. However, we went over the physical affects last blog, the hardware - what about the mental, the software? How do I feel inside my brain, are my thoughts good and stuff, faster, sleeker, sexier, or just the same ol' slow-moving, ranch-dipped, electrical signals shuffling around aimlessly and lackadaisically bumbing into neuronal bundles here and there?
To borrow an analogy I used earlier, I feel like I went from DOS to Windows 7. The speed, clarity, and random ability to access memories and wayward thoughts has grown exponentially. It's like the Windows of my consciousness have been cleaned 7 times removing the grimy, yellow, caked-on ranch-cheese goo. It's not that my RAM has been affected, it's that I have become RAM (Random Analogy Machine). The random thoughts and associations that occur when I'm thinking or talking about anything persistently create these random, yet perfect, analogies. The lanes have been widened, the roads have been cleaned, and there is constant, fast-moving, Autobahn-like, traffic hustling from one neuronal bundle of memories and concepts to another. Throw any acronym at me, and I will turn it into a statement regarding my hotness. DOS? Dildo Obfuscating Sexiness, Dastardly Osiris-like Sensuality, Distant Occular Spraying. MAC? Major Awesome Cock, Mystical Anal Contractor, Mitochondric Anal Capitulator. (Ok, so the last one doesn't make sense, but, I bet, it took a double-take to figure that out).
Other than the sheer processing power being affected, I feel calmer. In many ways I am more mellow, more caught in just being here and now, and not worrying as much about what has happened and what could happen. Don't get me wrong, doing a bunch of push-ups and curls while yelling "extreme" in my basement for 77 days has not allowed me to enter into the effervescent, transcendent world of momentary consciousness; I just feel less pent up and anxious.
Highlights: A group of teenage girls walked by the window as Millard and I were simultaneously karate-chopping the shit out of the air. I've never looked so cool.
State of Mind: Calm and quick. My mind is Bruce Lee.
Rating: C & B: P85X +Kenpo: P87X = P86X
*This didn't actually happen. I was born in 1986 - do the math. I would have been 7 when this occurred. I didn't hit puberty until well into the other Pat's (Quinn) coaching tenure.
** Felix Potvin had no major injuries in his career. And, no, no other person on the planet has ever made the Potvin-Orr comparison.
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