Ever have one of those days where you smile and the world smiles back? MUST BE NICE.
Joking, really. Today’s been kind of the ideal Saturday. It’s been so good, in fact, that I might even spend this entire entry talking about how good it’s been. I have that power and I’m all too willing to abuse it.
It’s been a great Saturday, but not a long Saturday. Why? Because I decided that, post Rocky Horror Shadowcast, it’d be great to get 2am pork bone stew. IT WAS GREAT. It also meant that at 3am I walked home and, drunk as I still was from the work Halloween party, thought it’d be swell to play some Magic. IT WAS. I HAD ONLY GOOD IDEAS LAST NIGHT, apparently.
So my day didn’t start until about 10am, but it began with playing Magic, just like Richard Garfield intended. I drafted a sweet deck and, after a couple of games, thought it’d make sense to do an 11.30am Body Pump class at the gym. TURNS OUT IT WAS. THIS GOOD IDEA TRAIN KEEPS ON ROLLING. I don’t know why the caps are necessary, but if I’ve only been having good ideas, it must’ve been a capital idea.
Body Pump, like every other Les Mills class, has not changed. It’s comforting to know that no matter how many new releases they bring out, I can still sweat out toxins from the previous night. If you’ve made it this far without knowing what a Body Pump class is, it’s pretty simple. You have an empty bar and a bunch of weights. Each track works a different part of the body and you swap around the load depending on how large the muscle group is. The instructor will be all “we’re doing a squat track. This is your heavy one. Put two to three times your warmup weight on the bar.” So you do. And every track is murder. But you leave flushed with endorphins and it all seems worth it. Did you like how those last three sentences started with conjunction? I SURE DID. After that Body Pump class I’ve got conjunction in the trunk…tion? I go infrequently enough that I frequently forget how much weight I use for each track, so sometimes I get punished by my own ignorance. I don’t think I’ve managed, in my entire life, to make it through an entire class without skipping reps. There are just too damn many of them. I always shit the bed on the bicep track, because I have wimpy biceps and it’s a downright slaughter. Still, I left the class feeling like I could punch the goddamn moon.
Naturally after such a solid workout, I wanted a big feast. With everybody else busy, I resolved to make a massive sandwich and soak up any residual booze in my body. I bought ham and mushrooms, then set it up. The mushrooms were chopped and thrown into a pan with olive oil, garlic, a little chicken stock and red wine. The bread was topped with cheese and tossed into the toaster. I chopped sundried tomatoes and fried up an egg. Putting it all together was an altogether decadent experience. The toast was crunchy, the cheese gooey and the egg runny. The mushrooms had bite to them thanks to a hint of cayenne. The sandwich was dense, flavourful and walked the sweet/savoury line. I played some more Magic with my sandwich by my side for luck.
The day has already kicked every kind of arse and it’s still only up from here. I’m skyping with one of my favourite people, who I haven’t caught up with in maybe a year. I’m getting dressed up and going to a friend’s annual spooktacular Halloween house party. Then after that, my girlfriend and I are heading off to a Halloween themed warehouse rave. This is why Saturdays exist, so some of us can feel like we’re touching the divine.
You’re damn right the world’s smiling back. I better brush my teeth for good measure.