POW

Exhausted. Am I too old for this? I've been bitching about my age a lot lately, but I never really take it to heart. I feel, and definitely look, like a young whippersnapper. Generally.

It's Wednesday and am exhausted. I haven't even laced up since Saturday's lessons. Which, by the way, were brutal. No scraps or bruises. On the outside that is. Mentally, I'm torn up. To sum it up best, the Guru gave me one enthusiastic, "Nice. That's it. Finally." Yes, he said, "finally." And this didn't happen until two hours and fifty-five minutes into my three-hour session. Nice, indeed.

It wasn't even a click-that's-it moment. He had been telling use to remember POW (Privates Over Wheels) to keep our form in check. Towards the end of Saturday, everyone was sort of falling off their game...basically joining me in suckassville. He stopped us all and said something like "think POW and now replace 'Privates' with what you've got." I don't know about everyone else, but I certainly chanted "Pussy Over Wheels" a few times. It worked. Except it was the last run of the day and I'm almost certain it was luck.

Friday is Skill Night with the Gotham Girls. I must commit POW to mind and body or risk complete humiliation.