The spousal unit often claims that I married him just so I would have someone in my life to build and fix things for me because I'm not very good with tools.

That is such a fib.

Actually, I was more concerned about the heavy lifting.

So you can well imagine my distress in these last few weeks when the spousal unit decided that my relatively recent muscles should be put to, you know, practical use.

Practical Use?

PRACTICAL USE?

WHAT KIND OF MADNESS IS THIS?

Clearly, he did not Get The Memo. These are muscles acquired for the sole purpose of moving heavy bits of metal up and down in the air-conditioned comfort of a gym. These muscles need a place where I can sit down and take small sips of cool, refreshing water from my sippy bottle whenever I want.

Frankly, these muscles are Little Delicate Flowers. They were never meant to do, oh, how to phrase this ... Freakishly Hard Lifting In The Humid, Hot, Bug-Infested Outdoors.

I mean, really, isn't this the sort of stuff for which men were created?

My thoughts, exactly.

Well my whining my well-reasoned arguments about my little delicate flower muscles fell on deaf ears. The framing for the walls for the new woodshed had to be raised. He pointed out that each wall was in two bits, and with careful tipping and a minimum lifting he was sure we could handle it.

Fine.

All went well until the final section of wall, the one on the right which rests on a log sill. Somehow the wall we were tipping upwards slipped off the log and slid to the floor of the woodshed. The spousal unit surveyed the situation and pronounced that we were going to have to tip the wall back down flat, drag it backwards and try tipping it back up the ramp he'd made.

"It's up, why don�t we try just horsing it up to the log?" I asked.

"You're not strong enough," he said flatly.

"Am too."

"Are Not."

"AM TOO!!!"

Yes, yes this is the same woman who about half an hour earlier had been trying to explain The Delicate Flower Theory of muscle building. Oh, and the two people having this extremely erudite argument? We are not pre-schoolers. Between us, our cumulative time on the planet is 102 years.

I told him I would steady my end and he could at least try horsing up his side. He did. He got his end of the wall resting on the log, which took part of the weight of the wall we were lifting. "I don't think you should do this," he said.

I know he was genuinely concerned, but frankly, he might as well have slapped my face with a glove. The gauntlet was thrown.

Basically what I was doing here was a dead lift. I do dead lifts at my gym. Granted, they're done with nice steel bars which are easy to grip, but I know how to do this safely, how to make my legs do the real pushing, to use my arms more as static levers, how to keep my back out of it completely. I reminded myself to breathe in deeply, expel the breath with the effort.

I don't know what gave me more pleasure--the sensation of feeling that ten foot section of wall slip the surly bonds of earth and thunk into place on top of that log, or the look on the spousal unit's face.

Oh yeah, I Showed HIM!

Except ...

Now he knows exactly what I can lift and there is always buttloads of work around here that involves heavy lifting.

Oh man. You know, there are days when I amaze even myself with my stupidity.

--Marn

P.S.--To say thank you to Skibigsky for upgrading to Diaryland Supah Gold--a way to help keep The Mothership afloat--I wrote a small guest entry for her. Like me, she knows the wonders of the gym.

Mileage on the Marnometer: 354.69 miles (570.8 kilometers)
Goal for 2003: 500 miles - 804.5 kilometers