If you ever get the chance... don't

Helpful hint to every Net denizen who happens upon this...... I have decided that it is not entirely sane to tell one's personal trainer the following: "I seem to have hit a plateau". I personally think that mine decided that "oh you have, have you? We'll just see about that!".

Ergo, I struggle to walk this fine day. Brother. I want to go lie down and sleep for a couple of hours.

My personal trainer is just a little sprite of a thing. Nice as can be. And mean as all-git-out on the inside.  I told her today I was going to pop her with my towel!

Seriously, I was in need of the next level of workouts.  As I continue to train and better my temple, it has been really helpful to have a professional show me the way.  The hard work, the determination to get up at 0430 every morning, and the endurance to keep going and not slack off as I have so many times.... those come from me and me alone.   But my trainer helps me by showing me how to exercise so that my physique is well-rounded and I minimize the chance for injury.

If you are trying to make a change like this in your life, and you have the means, I highly recommend that you contract with a trainer to show you the way.  As I have mentioned in a previous post, I got inspired by a one-armed Mt. Everest climber... and for my own personal quest, my trainer is my 'sherpa'.


Random thoughts for today:
1.  Pudge Rodriguez is a Yankee now.  Yuck.  I hate the Yankees.  I like Rodriguez.  Why do so many ex-Rangers go on to great things in their careers, whilst the home team still struggles to figure out that pitching is a crucial element in winning baseball?!?
2.  Did you know that an MRI of the knee looks a lot like a pork chop?

The human psyche is a wonderfully strange thing...

Today I did something that any reasonable person would consider benign and innocuous.  I switched my "home library"!   Allow me to explain:  I am a frequent patron of the one of the local library systems, and as one might easily guess, I use their internet-based features quite frequently.    The internet tools they provide allow me the ability to manage the items I have checked out, search for new items, and have them placed on hold under my name.   Then I simply walk in to the "holds" area, which is conveniently located near the front, pull my items, and I'm checked out in minutes.

Part of the process requires you to select a "home library"  It;s the branch where all your holds will be sent for pickup.  For the last 2-3 years, I have been "homed" out of one particular branch that is located along a major freeway of my commute.  Now that I work at a different place, and I recently decided not to use that freeway anymore to avoid the toll fees, I decided that another branch of the library would be slightly more convenient... so today I asked a librarian to change my "home library".

Benign and innocuous.  One could hardly think of something more definitive of those terms.  The phrase "no big deal" comes to mind.

So, why did a feel a small twinge of guilt as I made this change?  Make no mistake, it was by no means a crippling sense of guilt, but an honest self-examination proved it to be extant nonetheless.    Granted, we are creatures of habit, and I had been patronizing this one particular branch for several years.. sometimes stopping by multiple times per week on the way home.   I recognized most of the library staff, and I like to think that some of them knew me as well-- especially after waltzing into the library in my full motorcycle gear a few times!

I've never lived in a real urban environment, but I imagine that the change I made today would be like changing hot dog vendors or newsstands in New York or D.C.  In my own little way, I had built a brand loyalty with this particular branch and some of its librarians, and I felt a little guilty abandoning them on the altar of convenience (or to the extortion of $4.00 gasoline!)

In the grand scheme of things, this was certainly nothing to get one's knickers in a knot over... but I was fascinated that such a simple thing could cause such feelings.   The human psyche is a wonderfully complicated and mysterious thing....

The mysterious handprint

As I returned from lunch today, I looked up while riding the elevator and noticed a perfect handprint on the stainless steel just above the inside of the elevator door.  It was so clear I could almost make out the whorls in the fingerprints. 

Stuff like this fascinates me-- whose handprint is that?  Why was their hand there?  It wasn't in a spot likely to be touched, not even by a repairman;  nor would it have been a likely spot for the disfiguration-defying practice of sticking one's hand in to keep the doors from closing.

So... why was the print there?   Was it some sports-enthused male with a teenager's mindset, (which sounds somewhat like me!) reaching up to slap the door on the way out, like an imaginary backboard?  Was it a repairman reaching up to brace himself while working on some other part of the elevator?   Or was it someone bracing themselves while having a quickie with a co-worker?  (It would have to be quick, as there are only 3 floors!).

Sadly, I will never know.  Like the footprints in the sand from Longfellow's The Tide Rises, the Tide Falls, this traveller will pass on and with the next swipe of Windex the handprint will be lost forever.....