I finally got some tentative miles in on my feet, and that felt pretty good. The she-cub and I visited Balboa together and caught the recent Top Gun movie – which had a lot of parallels to the original. Anyone else notice the female lead in both movies drove a 30 year-old (at the time) Porsche? Jennifer Connolly has a big edge over Kelly McGillis, though in my book. Someone let her know I’m available, mmmkay? But back to the movie: fun plane stuff, too.
Sunday, the she cub wanted to go lift weights. I thought, “Why not?” and went along. Well, Dear Readers (all ones of ya), she humbled me. She’s remarkably strong, and crushed my efforts like crushing a paper cup. And it was leg day! Ostensibly, as a runner, I’m supposed to have strong legs. But, as it happened, the only body parts that lived up to the masculine Dad-contract of Must Be Stronger were my calves. The baby cows are the only ones where I could keep up. Squats? Crushed. Extensions? Crushed. Bulgarians? Crushed, Hatch? Crushed.
I’m semi-thankful I’m driving most of the next two days, as I’m wending my way to Bend (or am I bending my way to Wend?) and on to Seattle. Walking is going to be painful for a bit.