Vicious Cycling
For the past few days I’ve had a craving for burritos. I’ve sent emails, read recipes, browsed forums, and discussed on end with people the sanctity of the tortilla church. I’ve witnessed first hand the robust arguments used against “tex-mex shit” and “california what?” styles of burritos. I’ve been told that I need to endanger my health for a glimpse of burrito nirvana.
Well Friday should silence the choir of growling that is, apparently, a hot ticket in my stomach right now. Me and a few friends are going to a Pasadena restaurant/shack that is supposed to have amazing burritos. I am deliciously excited. It’s been a long time since i’ve been honest-to-God excited about a meal, the last time was probably a trip to Fogo De Chao about a year (almost to the day) ago.
It’s a dangerous proposition, looking forward to things. On one hand, it could be terrible or awful, on the other, it could be forgettable. Am I forgetting the third handed option, as Borat would say, “Great Success?” Hardly, things rarely live up to their expectations on a first go- from food, to movies, to people, we’re all just living in between on giant disappointment and the next. But there are those diamond moments, the silver linings, the sel de fleur of events that completely and utterly contents. This is what makes those lumps of coal bearable.
Last night I went to the aforementioned spin class. When i described it as the dichomatic equal of flossing, I left out one, very important part: It’s like flossing while sprinting uphill with cement filled cowboy boots. While I feel great today, and can eat a burrito without feeling the least bit guilty for it (not that I would anyways), it still kicked my ass.
Hard.
It was an hour long, high impact interval training (HIIT) session. That’s what they call it. They being the pregnant instructor who has yet to gain a pound 16 weeks into her gestation- I use this term because I’m not so sure this woman is human. Not in a bad way, mind you, but as superman was not exactly from Earth- neither is this one. I’m guessing robot. I will do it again, but I much prefer some form of strength training. Those of you who know me find the combination of me and strength laughable at best, unless referring to a gin and tonic. But give me, oh, 3-4 years; we’ll see who’s laughing on top of the proverbial hill.
Lastly, for now anyways, I need to talk about my roommate. I can’t get away from the constant noise and it’s driving me crazy. I am, of course, talking about Basil. He found a thumb tac in my room and decided to knock it all over the damn place with his little paw. Steph might call it a mitten, I’m not sure, but of one thing I am: the cat sleeps elsewhere from now on. I plan on locking and soundproofing the door so that I can attempt a mediocre night’s sleep.
I need you like water in my lungs.