I was downstairs making a rare Saturday morning treat, pancakes from scratch, when I heard the spousal unit yell, "Enid, cut that out!"

That zippy ball of orange, white and black fur adores the spousal unit. Wherever he is in the house, that's where you'll find her. She particularly likes to "help" or "supervise" him (depending on her mood) if he's working on some project or other. Today he is mudding gyproc, spreading compound over the taped joints and screws on the walls in my office.

He's not using pre-mixed gyproc mud for the first coat, instead hand mixing a tougher compound that will make a stronger joint in the corners. That means he has my watering can to hold water, a big bag of the compound and a mixing bucket in the room.

"EEEENID, STOP IT!" he yelled.

The deal with this tougher compound is that it dries far more quickly that pre-mixed gyproc mud, so once the spousal unit gets it mixed he has to get it on the wall pronto before it starts to harden. This means he can't take time off to stop a zippy ball of orange, white and black fur from doing something monkey level destructive.

"EEEEEEEENID, CUT THAT OUT! I MEAN IT!" I started to laugh. I tiptoed upstairs to see what she was up to.

There was Enid in the corner of my office happily chewing on the spout of the blue plastic watering can the spousal unit is using to pour water into the mixing bucket. Her little needle like teeth were perilously close to chomping holes in the spout, which would have turned it into more of a sprinkler than a watering can.

Every time the spousal unit yelled at her, she'd stop briefly and give him a snippy glance as if to say, "Look, can't you see I'm chewing on the spout of this watering can and you're breaking my concentration?" The spousal unit was having fits but couldn't stop mudding. The cat was completely oblivious to how crazy she was driving him.

I could have watched this for hours.

Sadly, my giggles alerted the spousal unit to my presence and he made me take the watering can away from Enid. I don't know who was more upset by this harsh turn of events: the cat or me. As far as we're both concerned, The Man Is No Fun Whatsoever.

This is my last weekend of relative freedom before I start the tougher training program in preparation to run a 10K this spring. To decide what level I should come in at next week the new trainer is going to test me for stamina, strength, flexibility, weigh me, record a series of body measurements and also do body fat measurements with calipers.

OH DEAR GOD NOT THE CALIPERS.

There are some things I so do not want to know and one of them is my exact body mass index. It is higher than it should be, for sure (despite a year of working out) but not knowing exactly how much too high it is allows me to toss around adjectives such as "chubby" instead of "moby". Frankly, I enjoy living in my current delusional state. I'm comfortable where I am now.

I wouldn't even bother with the caliper dealie except that apparently high level cardio training such as what I want to try now can throw your body into starvation mode. You have no idea how much this information ticks me off.

I mean, I already knew that if I overeat, I will get fat. DUH. You don't have to be Sherlock Holmes to get that. Ironically, though, if I really ratchet up the cardio and my body decides what I'm eating is too few calories and it starts feeling threatened, instead of burning fat as I run/row/bicycle, it could start burning my hard won pretty little gym muscles for fuel instead.

ARRRRRRRRGH. Stupid freakin' body. The new trainer says doing a detailed body map now and updating it monthly will help me adjust what I eat if necessary so I can continue to coddle those pretty little gym muscles.

Stupid freaking body.

Calipers. I am going to let someone I don't know grab hunks of flesh all over my body and pinch them with calipers.

I can't stand it.

--Marn

Mileage on the Marnometer: 533.01 miles (857.9 kilometers)
met goal Nov. 7

Goal for 2003: 500 miles - 804.5 kilometers