mentally calculating terminal velocity, hanging upside down

365 day fourty-three: the maid doth protest

Happy Valentines from Lung and I

What are people doing for the “holiday” this year? I believe I’m attending Dan Mangan’s gig at the Media Club over on Cambie Street, though there’s vague talk of a North Shore house party too.

I’m not sure if I’m up for very much. Silks class was rough this week. My body, weak from a cough, wasn’t prepared, wasn’t as able. Come Tuesday morning, I looked like a recovering accident victim – thighs ringed with dark black bruises and rope-burn, with tiny blood blisters where my pants got caught in the cloth as I was falling into a flip. (All of my weight pinching. Aie.) Terrible and aching. If I hadn’t been asked to soak in a hot-tub after, I don’t know that I would have been able to walk the next morning. Doesn’t matter, though. It’s for a good cause. It’s worth it, so worth it. We’re getting progressively fancier as we learn more skills and upper body strength begins to set back in, so not only is it fun, it’s beginning to be beautiful.