Tag Archives: working out

The Heal Thy Steff Plan: The Victoria Model v2.0

I try to learn life lessons where I can, but I’m not sure what to glean from spending $95 on a massage, then sleeping on my arm wrong.

Sometimes, maybe there isn’t a lesson. Sometimes, maybe life’s just stupid.

Ignoring the “Oops, I did it again” sleep and all, the massage was awesome. I’m still in a frustrated headspace, though. This weekend, some game-planning’s goin’ down.

See, like the ever-smart pragmatist I try to be, I realized the year-end was upon us and I’ve begun trying to make all my leftover medical benefits vanish by way of use, rather than time running out on me.

I took this shot near my home yesterday. Had a 4km pre-breakfast sunrise walk. Beats the shit out of walking to a bus stop on a busy thoroughfare, like I’d be doing back in the city in the morning.

Hello, beefy masseur. Howdy, Mr. Chiro. Bonjour, acupuncturist. Allo, physiotherapist. Holy fuck, look at that crowded calendar.

Thus begins the 10-week intensive Heal Thy Steff regimen. Oh, and I’m signing up for yoga at the end of the month, and I’ve just joined the gym. I’ll continue with my avid walking/cycling life as well, with my last bus ride having been in July.

It’s about to become a very anti-social, very focused, and very broke end-of-year for me, but with, I hope, fantastic results. I’m imagining myself starting 2013 in the best mind/body place I’ve been in for a few years. But I’m under no illusions that this will be an easy time of life management or physicality. Time to get my game on.

Last year, when I did something similar, I spent my funds completely differently — on experimental stuff on the other side of town, after which I’d get home tired, often soaked, and frustrated. This time, I’m doing more traditional treatments I know have worked for me before, and I don’t need to spend 70 hours a month on the bus to make it happen. Instead, everything’s within 2.5 kilometres of me.

I’m switching chiropractors, which is the one big risk. The guy I’m with has worked with many Olympians and is incredible, but he also causes a lot of pain. I’m in constant inflammation, and I’m just wondering if someone else who uses the same techniques can be a little more forgiving with my body. The worst thing is, his time management sucks. Out of about 15 appointments, only 3 times have I gotten in with less than 15 minutes’ waiting, and at least 5 times I have waited 45 minutes. I know I’m not some big fancy rich person or anything, but my time’s valuable to me, too.

And given I’m cycling 30 minutes/9km each way to his appointment, that’s adding up to about 2 hours of my time, not to mention the half-hour I have to stretch after all the cycling’s done, or that I usually justify this time/effort spent as a reason to order bad food on my way home. Add to that the money I’ve spent on the session, and suddenly it’s a black hole of time and expense, and usually ends up making me bitchy.

So, Olympians or no, I’m moving on to someone closer, whose bio sounds like he has a similar life/wellness perspective as what I’m hoping to attain.

Any way you slice it, this plan I have in mind will take tremendous discipline, a lot of work, a lot of money, and a lot of patience. It’s a huge commitment, and one I’ve not been ready to make before now. In 3 weeks, I’ll be meeting with a prominent physiotherapist who’s got an amazing background, and I will be getting a program started with him.

It also means I put writing on the back burner once again.

My recent birthday, and getting my new driver’s license, has opened this realization that I’ve been on this five-year journey through a lot of levels of pain, and I’m fucking tired, man. It needs to end. If it means I throw EVERYTHING at this, for one amazing 10-week period, and see where it gets me, then so be it.

Five years ago, I got my driver’s license photo back and this massively fat face was peering back at me. I’d just quit a job that had sent me spiralling towards depression because my employer was a toxic, negative hag who had high turnover with good reason, and went back to a job I’d always enjoyed (and am still at). I chose to do something about that depression by way of exercise and eating better, and adopted a lot of good habits, worked crazy hard, and lost 85 pounds in the next year (but gained 10 back immediately, and maintained a 75-lb loss for the next 2+ years) before blowing my back 4 years ago this month.

The last four years have been a repetitive story of rehab and fall-backs, including me regaining weight (it was 25 lbs when I left Vancouver, spiked to 35lbs after, and now is at 28lbs regained, so…).

All this culminated in this year’s decision that the city was killing me and I needed a slower pace of life that would be kinder to my body.

So, I sit here now, typing in my pajamas before a day of working from home, which is some 7 or so blocks from one of North America’s best urban ocean stretches, where I find my soul and refill it often.

I have come a long, long ways in the last seven months since my move.

It’s why I’m ready to make the commitment now, despite the fact that the fat, long-injured girl deep inside me is scared as hell about what it’s gonna feel like to go hard and face all the things that emotionally come with rehabbing your body after injury.

I suspect I’ll get bored of being in all the same neighbourhoods by the end of this year, since I’ll be in a 3-5km radius for much of the winter months, until Victoria is bike-friendly and pretty and warm for cycling again, but at least I’m close enough to never have an excuse to not cycle to appointments, since it would amusingly take about 3 times as long to bus as it would to cycle.

I’m scared and excited, but either way, time to go to the next level of Steff v2.0: The Victoria Model.

Let’s do this.

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Building Blocks: Mastering Less as More

It’s been a long week and you’re probably wondering how it went, given my dreaded Month of Suck admission last week.

I’ve spent this past week slowly recalibrating myself, lowering my expectations, ditching my guilt, and focusing on the individual steps to take rather than being overwhelmed by the bigness of my journey…

Found on SciFiTV.com.And it’s been much, much better.

My workout with Le Physique’s Nik Yamanaka last Monday was really an empowering start to my week. She was empathetic, didn’t dwell on my admitted failings, changed the game up a little, challenged me, and provided great positivity, support, and encouragement during the workout. She also brought The Funny, and we like The Funny.

It wasn’t that she was babying me, not by a long shot. She pushed me enough, and god knows I felt it the next night as the Screaming Thighs of Fury set in a day after the epic “Let’s try some lunges” experiment, but she didn’t push me past what I could take.

Who cares about the Screaming Thighs of Fury, though?

Face it, anyone who doesn’t have killer-sore legs after doing their first-ever triple-set of lunges is probably immortal. We don’t like those people.

We really, really don’t like those people. But I digress.

Aside from letting me ditch my guilt and shame by playing me her version of the “everyone has reversals” record, Nik also provided a lightbulb moment when it came to stretching.

I think I know better than most people the profound difference that can come from tweaking a stretch angle by a few degrees, so I was really surprised to find that, a) I’m still being uber-overzealous in my hamstring stretching, b) it’s probably a huge part of why my hamstrings never stretch out, and c) it’s likely instrumental in why I have recurring back issues on a small scale all the time.

Nik drove the point home that the hamstring is a very gentle stretch, and one of the most important ones we can do. She said to wait while the hamstring naturally extends itself. Stretch the leg to the point of feeling it, hold, as it releases and resistance lessens, extend slightly further, hold, repeat, etc.

Okay, whoa, hold them technique-horses a moment.

This needs saying: I’m not a licensed kinesiologist, I’m not edumacatin’ you on stretching, and you shouldn’t be doing anything by way of my limited explanations here. This was a trained professional explaining the best way of stretching for MY body. Your body is a whole ‘nother thang, and this is why certified personal trainers are a wise idea for anyone embarking on a new life of fitness: Because every body responds a little differently.

(But if you’re like most people, you probably should be stretching those hamstrings more, honey.)

Anyhow, that slight adjustment, less-kamikaze approach has been making a difference in my legs and back this week, but there’s another stretch that’s proven monumentally important to me, now that I’ve been hearing Nik’s voice in my head all the time: “Drop your shoulders. Drop your shoulders.”

I’ve always had my shoulders up too high during stretches — and now I realize my stretches are probably largely responsible for the “tension headaches” I get, or at least as responsible as other things, like carrying too many groceries or wearing heavy shoulder bags.

By keeping my shoulders down during the stretches, I’ve greatly reduced the headaches that were seriously cramping my style. Whew. Fantastic.

So, where didn’t my week go as ideally?

Well, everywhere, of course.

But “perfect” wasn’t my goal.

Sure, I didn’t exercise the “Full Nik Yamanaka Kicking-Ass-And-Taking-Names” routine, but I decided to cut myself slack and instead just focusing on Doing it Right and Feeling Good Later. Nik seems to approve.

I still haven’t stretched often enough, eaten as well as I would like, but I really don’t care.

I really don’t — because I’ve done everything better, I feel better, and I know I can still do better.

The difference is, this time I feel like doing better isn’t going to kill me. I don’t feel the dread and fear I was feeling for a while, when I kept paying for my efforts with negative fall-out (thanks to the trifecta of overdoing it, poor sleep, and bad stretching.)

Now I think “doing better” might even have me feeling better overall.

Working out through my pneumonia recovery has proven challenging, but I’m finally at the point where pushing cardio may still have me spent and asleep on the sofa by 8:30, but a good night’s sleep recharges that battery, and I find myself with more to give the next day.

That’s a new thing — having more to give — and a good thing.

Will I manage the Full Nik Yamanaka Kicking-Ass-And-Taking-Names program this week?

No, probably not, but I can get closer, do it better, feel stronger, and have the feeling that I’m adding to success rather than kicking myself when I’m down.

I’m listening to my body with exercise, and soon I know I’ll be listening to it for food, too. That’s always a 1–2 thing for me — I get the exercise sorted, then figure out the food.

All in all, it feels like the pieces are falling into place — or, rather, that I’m kicking ass and throwing them into place.

This week, less has been more.

By doing less and feeling like I’ve executed it better, or more well, or more promisingly, the emotional gains and the confidence I now have in going forward is both a pivotal and welcomed change in my life.

I knew I’d get here, but it was just such a rocky road with so many obstacles, and me with my lack of objectivity at the time.

Recalibrating, lowering expectations, and focusing on technique but working through obvious pains while trying to reduce unnecessary pain, have been a key in my week of regrouping.

Going into this week with a little less fear and a little more confidence will be a nice change, provided I remember that it’s doing less, but doing it better, that’s being my “more” right now.

Baby steps, baby.

Le Physique is in Leg-And-Boot Square, in Vancouver’s False Creek. Nik Yamanaka is co-owner, and was the BCRPA Personal Trainer of the Year for 2008. Le Physique tailors a program to meet your abilities, goals, and lifestyle. They can’t do the work for you, but they can tell you the tweaks that will help you meet your best performance and give you the mental tools and simple practices that might help you attain the success you need. You can listen to Nik talking about training in this radio interview here. You can follow her/them on Twitter, too, by clicking here.
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Enter Villain: Nemesis, AKA The Stairs

Today I conquered that which I’ve avoided since June: My Nemesis, The Stairs.

I did 21 floors, with 22 steps each, in under 20 minutes. It’s a great start back! Remember: Pneumonia recovery — my first full week with actual cardio!

While not a specifically-prescribed exercise in my new fitness routine, the stairs are a necessary evil, and will likely figure prominently for me in the coming months. The stairs do some amazing things for my body, but it’s imperative that I use exact technique, or Bad Things can happen — and fast!

But good things can happen, and fast, too!

For example, I’ve noticed a terrific change in my body already, from less than a week with my trainer, Nik from Le Physique, in that my legs are already balancing their strength out. By that I mean how my outer thighs are ridiculously developed from cycling so much, so long, and they get so tight it screws up my lower back and right hip.

Knowing this about me, Nik’s assigned two particular exercises that are crazy-good to do for my knees, glutes, and thighs, now I’m already seeing new tone on my inner thighs, and feeling less pressure on my tailbone! It’s been five days! (The exercises: Ball-leg curls with a balance ball, and wall-sits.)

I’ve been foolishly stubborn and proud of having achieved so much fitness-wise since 2007 on my own, without training and guidance, but I’m realizing how much my body needs the minor corrections in technique and new routines targeting specific muscles.

Fact is, every time I become competent in one muscle group, my body overcompensates in another, in a bad way. Aches, pains, et cetera, it seems might be more avoidable than I realized.

Another thing that’s quickly resonated with me is the food/activity journal that Nik assigned me.

I’ve tracked calories before, but never the emotional fallout of my choices and actions/lack of action, and it’s illuminating.

I thought I’d be more wowed by how certain dietary choices physically felt in my body, but instead I’m noticing all the emotional comments. The biggest one: Shame.

Every time I don’t do what I know I can, or know I should, I find myself recording feedback laced with guilt and shame.

I’m a recovering Catholic, of course I feel shame for everything — but the question is, why keep doing the behaviour that creates the guilt and shame in the first place? Why perpetuate the cycle?

I know, it’s not rocket science that I should feel badly after eating badly, but there’s something about seeing it on paper —  CAUSE = EFFECT — when it comes to recording three glasses of wine or my choice to eat slider burgers with a fried egg for breakfast.

It’s that original “WTF” moment where you just can’t fathom the logic behind those choices. Why? Why? Why?

Somehow “but it tastes good” isn’t swallowed so easily when one realizes the rest of the day is spent with a faint whiff of failure lingering around.

Fortunately, this is part of the process. It’s part of the accountability factor that leads to success. Obviously the accountability isn’t there at the beginning; that’s why change is happening in the first place, right?

I know, in a couple weeks, I’m gonna love the way the new strength is feeling, I’ll love the power I feel I have, and I’ll have something I didn’t have two weeks ago — the pride of really accomplishing life change through serious, deliberate effort.

Then, the price becomes too high to screw my accomplishment up with wrong choices or not accommodating those choices through additional workouts or juggling my day’s food.

Then, the body becomes its own reminder that eating well is imperative — how you feel already is the motivation for keeping the feeling alive. It’s a self-sustaining experience, if you’re doing fitness right, I’ve found.

The process has begun. It’s kind of awesome.

Tomorrow, I get a day pass to get the hell out of the city and rediscover nature in the Valley. I’m really glad I’m feeling healthier already, because I’ve earned the day away.

On tap? Hiking. More fitness, but also more reward for me, on every level.

Le Physique is in Leg-And-Boot Square, in Vancouver’s False Creek. Nik Yamanaka is co-owner, and was the BCRPA Personal Trainer of the Year for 2008. Le Physique tailors a program to meet your abilities, goals, and lifestyle. They can’t do the work for you, but they can tell you the tweaks that will help you meet your best performance and give you the mental tools and simple practices that might help you attain the success you need. You can listen to Nik talking about training in this radio interview here. You can follow her/them on Twitter, too, by clicking here.

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The Challenge of Transitioning

I’m in zombieland.

Mono-focused. I know what I want. I’m after it. Period.

Brains. Nommy brains.

Mmkay, no.

I want life to be my bitch. That requires me being strong, fit, and healthy.

It requires me undoing bullshit that caused me to gain back 8 pounds — and probably several inches — of the 70 pounds I’d lost.

That shit’s done, yo.*

A small part of me was enjoying the summer before I destroyed my back, 2008. I was becoming a jock:  strong, powerful, and often making my “fit” friends feel like chumps because Fat Girl could work circles around ‘em.

They loved it, I loved it. Good times and great laughs. What a change from them always having to slow up and check on me.

There’s nothing more important in my life to me right now than taking that back.

I fucking love the pride I feel when I know what I’m really getting done.

Nothing says empowered like being able to change a day that’s had me bent over and taking it by having a set of fitness goals and blowing that out of the water. Whatever else life did that day, it couldn’t stop me from killing that workout.

There’s something that comes from that place of knowing you scaled a mountain, rode 30 km, or did a crazy set of highrise stairs.

I love that place. I’ve owned that place.

Since May 11th, I have worked out on more days than I haven’t, usually five days a week. And, on most days, I’ve tried to really leave it all on the floor. I’m getting better at that, and intend to keep pushing boundaries.

Today, my whole body cries for release. This is the consequence of those actions.

All of me is so tight and sore. From my ankles to my jaw, I hurt.

There’s only one thing I know I can do to help it: Work out more, but differently. Like my chiro doc tells me, “Motion is lotion.”

Move it, or lose it. Two days slack is asking for a world of pain. Days off are harder than days on, when you get used to the workload, but there’s a point in between where everything you do’s an effort, and I’m there. So fucking spent.

It’s with weary resignation I know I can’t rest. I know I don’t want to go cycling later, and most of me would rather crawl in bed and die today, but… I know: I can’t.

My “rest day” will be tomorrow or Saturday. Maybe both, since much walking will be required tomorrow and anything else might overdo it.

I cancelled plans last night. Didn’t have it in me, and saw that coming from morning light. I’m sure feelings were hurt. They’ll understand someday.

I know what’s important to me right now, and it’s not parties and big crowds of people. It’s not about finding my contentment through others, or getting their validation, or needing their company.

It’s about rediscovering that place inside that gave me the power to change my world in such a dramatic fashion once already.

And I know what it takes.

It takes cancelling out on parties.

It takes that inevitable night at the end of the week where you’re just fucking DONE and all you can do is crash at 9:00 at night and sleep for 10 hours, waking with already-weary bones that know they’re in for more, and soon.

It takes vitamins, big healthy meals, water all day, planning food in advance, total time-management, prioritizing yourself before anyone else, and avoiding engagements that are too heavily centred around dining and drinking.

I know what it takes.

It takes a total life change.

And you know what else it takes?

It takes pissing off other people who don’t understand what it really takes, when you just can’t find it in you to go and be happy and fun with other people. You’d rather just die on the sofa with only one thing on your mind: You met the goal this week.

People don’t get how hard it is. You can’t POSSIBLY get it. If you think losing 10 pounds is hard, or 20, try 70.

Just fucking try it. I did it. I know. I did that. And it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done. And I’ve kept 62 off for 18 months!

I know Biggest Loser’s the biggest cheese going on TV sometimes, with the sound editing and the seemingly simplified weight battles edited to fit a TV format, but the emotions those people feel — the breakdowns at the end of the season, of trying to juggle real life with friends and families and weightloss — and how it’s the people around them who always lose out, that’s all real.

Wanting to cry because you’re so fucking tired, but LOVING the joy you feel inside about what you’ve accomplished? That dichotomy is a weird place to live, and the tightrope one walks to sustain each is the toughest balance ever.

To be successful with a “180” health-wise, to take on a radically active life after years of sloth — the focus and drive they take are impossible to explain.

The pain with which your body screams at you after years of giving into gravity and laziness, after decades of shovelling processed food into it, after years of losing lung capacity… that isn’t a one-week adjustment.

And I’ve had a decade of injuries to overcome on top of all that pain.  For me, it means I have to spend hours stretching out the hours of working out, every single week.

That whole-body-fatigue keeps hurting — week after week, month after month — because every pound you lose means you need to work harder to remove the remainder.

It’s why 80% or more of people can’t lose weight and sustain it.

This is the HARDEST mental battle of your life. Win the weightloss headgame and no other game will out-think you in life. I guarantee it.

The resilience you need to get past 50 pounds of weightloss, and to sustain it, is something you can’t learn from a book or buy from a specialist. You create it and nurture it.

I may have gained 8 pounds back out of 70, but I don’t feel like that’s a failure at all. I think 10% gain back after 21 months spent with a life-altering injury, then caught in a year of burn-out, is fucking awesome.

I’m proud as hell of that. GOME.

And what a gift for getting back on path, being still so close to the goal I’ve wanted to achieve since I was 17: Being under 200 pounds.

I hope to reach that goal by Canada Day. Scared I won’t. But I’m gonna try real fuckin’ hard.

I won’t feel guilty for focusing on myself right now — be it meaning that I cancel plans, or whatever else it takes.

I’m not likely to cancel on one-on-one time with friends or small groups, but, parties? Yep. The full-body fatigue that comes from this doesn’t tend to always make one a real cheery camper to hang with when it comes to maintaining a “vibe” a host/hostess is trying to create. Can’t do it.

I’m tired. I’m sore.

I’m dreading how much further, harder, and heavier all this shit’s gonna get before I’m at where I want to be.

I’m not some 140-pound chick climbing those highrise stairs or cycling 35km, man, I’m 210-plus. I literally haul every pound of that on this frame — it’s actually there, it’s actually heavy. It’s real fuckin’ heavy.

Gravity finds every ounce of that weight when I’m fighting it, and, believe me, I feel like it after a week like I’ve had.

But I’m elated.

It has begun. I’m at the climax of where it gets real, real hard at the beginning, where every day is filled with hurt and fatigue, but, soon, I’ll hit my pace where it’s just about keeping the wheels spinning ‘cos momentum’s been found.

I’ll be one seriously weary girl for a while. My BEST friends understand it and WELCOME it.

Soon, it’ll just be a new normal, and the determination that emerges from meeting small success after small success is its own feeding frenzy.

And I’ll be Mojo Girl again.

I’ll get that cocky grin that makes people wonder what the fuck I’m on. I’ll get my twinkle in my eye, the smirk that says “Look out.”

Then it all gets very, very fun. Very.

Just you wait.

.

*I think I’ve lost the weight already, or close to it. But I’m waiting until one month in for weigh-day and that’s next Wednesday. It’s really about the feeling. I know the weight will come off gradually — it did before. It’s nice to see the numbers change, though. Rewarding. But not really what it’s about. It’s important to know that before you step on the scale. It’s important to believe it.

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Quickie: State of the Steff

I’m on the verge of eggs and toast. This is my exciting life.

I just wanted to pop in though, say boo to some of my favourite readers, and just letcha all know that it might be a day or two before I’m firing on all cylinders. This blog’s a total snapshot of my mental processing and parts of my life, it happens on my whim. I don’t write postings in advance, or plan for things, or scheme.

It’s all whatever feels right. It’s kind of the hedonistic approach to blogging, as opposed to what I suspect is, um, much more orchestrated with other “serious” bloggers. I just don’t roll that way. Wish I could. I’d accomplish more.

But life isn’t about this blog right now. And it honestly hasn’t been for the last two years. Continue reading

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Warning: Excessive Bliss May Be Good For You

I would have said that “the Guy has this saying,” but according to Google, there’s 14,700 hits for the phrase “post-coital bliss.”

It’s all about the PCB. Blissed out and riding that wave back to normalcy. Nothing recharges the batteries like a good lay, don’t ya think?

It’s Saturday morning (as if you didn’t know) and it’s cooler than it has been, but not cold. There’s 94% humidity – yep, count it, 94% — and the air’s got that built in chill-enhancer that’s not so friendly in the morning. Still, I’m in bare feet, just not happily naked like I normally am in the morning. Oh, well. The headache burrowing into the back of my skull’s not really a high point this morning, either, but I’m ignoring it and listening to Gomez over my headphones anyhow.

The gym was supposed to be my destination, but I have that all-over-body sore that says somethin’ physical’s been up of late. (The dirty s-e-x, that’s what. I tell ya, the death-grip with your legs around the waist, hiking him towards ya, good fer thighs and ass and abs, ladies.) I figure instead I’ll do some ab work, play with free weights, write, watch TV a spell, and then that’s my day. The Guy hobbles over, crutches and all, to my place this evening.

Back to the more interesting of topics thus far, PCB. It was after the dirty s-e-x that the conversation steered towards the PCB. Nothing takes a sting out of a working man’s week better than getting him laid by 10 on Friday, you know. My guy’s cut from a slightly different cloth. Instead of having sex (the dirty s-e-x, even) and rolling over to sleep the sleep of the dead, he gets energized. He actually enjoys cuddling and talking after a good shagging. How do ya like that? Now that’s serious PCB, folks. He even gave me a couple decent writing topics.

I, for one, am a big fan of the PCB, baby. Sex for everybody, says I. Didn’t you get the memo? I took over the duties of World Domination and Universal Autocrat as of midnight last night.

Lucky for you fuckers, too.

Sex for everybody. Yep. Just step right over here to your frequency lanes and pick a number you’d like as your sexual quota each week. What, three times? Four? More? All rightie, then. Pick a lane, any lane. That’s the number of times you’ll be getting’ your love on each week, my friends.

Ah, if only. I would make such a KICK-ASS dictator. None of the genocide crap, man. No illegal law enforcement. No intimidation. All about the bliss, baby. Personal freedoms for everyone, medical insurance discounts for anyone getting shagged often, sex toys would be tax deductible… If only.

In my pie-in-the-sky utopia, I’d have sex four to six times a week. A couple double-dips and such in there, of course, as well as lazy sleep-in, clothes-off, shaggin’ Sundays.

I’m looking forwards to next month. We’re on the verge of warm, warm nights now, and I’m thinking how much I’m gonna love those late-night just-got-laid departures – riding through the fragrant streets on warm, breezy nights, my scooter weaving back and forth under canopied streets as various perfumes from flowers assail me and cooler air pockets surprise me. Sigh. That’s always the best time to be out commuting in the world: a summer night after sex.

(There you go – a road rage solution. Road rage is all because people aren’t having sex enough. C’mon, people! Spread the sex around. Let’s reclaim our streets. Nice, happy drivers who just couldn’t give a shit if you go faster. They’re thinking about getting a little more of the shaggin’ they just had. A far better traffic pattern would emerge, I bet.)

Y’know, I went out for years with this guy who lived about 35 minutes away from me, and I still, to this day, remember loving the ride home almost as much as I enjoyed the sex and/or his company. It’d be 4am, and I’d be driving out on a highway that always had this awesome turn-off that made it feel like you were driving literally into the sunrise. Whoosh, around the bend, and back headed south-east, towards the sunrise again. I almost always took the long way home.

There’s just something great about sex in the summer. It’s better when you have a fan to cool yourselves off after all that work, but hey, seasonal shagging’s all good. I love staying in for sex in the winter, but if you have to leave, it’s such a bitterly cruel contrast – the cold, cold nights against the warmth and sweat and fury of your recent encounter. Yeah, I’ll take this… summer and the PCBs.

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