Suppertime Sonnet Stories: In Which @BlazingBetta Needs To Return To CrossFit

The blaze of Betta set the car on fire
Just as she walked past it, among all those
Parked wildly there. Now now, I am no liar:
When she fails to go lifting, e'en her nose
Gives off such energy as would explode
A lesser being. As a consequence
The car combusted (no, this did not bode
Too well for next year!) and, scarce minutes hence,
So did the parking lot entire when she
Returned from buying new weightlifting gear
(Those gloves are vital!). Now it's up to we
Who love her, and the earth, to gamely cheer
As Sarah heads on back to hit the gym!
If we don't, then our prospects grow quite dim.

In Which Operation Healthy Backfires A Bit

No alcohol and almost no caffeine,
Lean protein and as little processed crap
As I can keep from eating; that's my scene
This summer. But I fell into a trap:
For also I get lots of exercise
From bike commuting, mowing my own lawn
With my reel mower, and, to my surprise,
I'm up to a round hundred push-ups; dawn
Will also see me doing crunches -- those
I'm almost to two-hundred of. I'm proud
To share this, but there is a price. This blows.
I drink a lot of water, as I'd vowed,
But too much protein and a lack of salt
Means that my dizzy spells were all my fault.

Fitness Nerdery, Or, In Which "Jetson" Joins My Household

I'm choosy 'bout my roommates, but I find,

Approaching an "-ish" age as I now am,

That body needs as much work as does mind

If I, in fact, do really give a damn

About my having any chance to see

The "rapture of the nerds," as we have called

That point in time, the singularity.

Commuting on my bike's a start, but lawd,

It's been so dark and cold! So now I've bought

A treadmill - manual - for those bleak days

When Deep Blue's best left home. And now I've got

A hankering to find one or more ways

To make of it a generator! Yes!

Now if I can, that's anybody's guess!

In Which A Snowy Day Sets Me To Dithering

Contrary impulses have seized me, and

I'm transfixed, by the window, in their grips.

I still am sick, could barely lift a hand

To heave and shovel snow - though it's the hips

And legs that should do that work - yet I would

So dearly like to go play in that fresh, white

Inviting snow. My skis are - to the good -

In Saratoga, so that's out. All right

But just a walk? A bike ride? A quick romp

With Molly in the park? I really ought

To stay home and get well at last. I stomp

An angry foot at this, though. Yes, I've got

A poor track record, being sick and then

Undoing efforts to get well again.

BONUS SONNET: Everything Is Better With AIR

"Hey lady," called out sev'ral local sprats,

As I did huff and puff on down the street.

"Your tires are flat!" Oh hey, so maybe that's

Why one mile felt like forty. To complete

My shame, I did quite fail to bring along

My bike pump. Like a chorus, then, did sound

The gleeful and humiliating song

As I bore down and pow'red my way around

The Greenway to the exit on Ridge Road.

With gritted teeth I thanked each helpful soul,

Accepted each outcry as one more goad

To keep me moving onward to my goal.

The sad thing is, I think that yesterday

A kid yelled out the same thing. Oy and vey.

An Overdue Reunion Is Not Without Its Costs

Deep Blue and I, together once again,
And weather once again allowing us
To re-explore the Greenway in Cheyenne,
We rode on out with very little fuss
(Deep Blue's my bike, I should perhaps explain
A Jamis 2.0 Commuter star).
And so began my new '09 campaign
To be in shape by June to ride as far
As work and back each day and burn no gas:
An Eight-plus mile round trip I love to make.
I'm starting near from scratch, alack, alas:
Last night one mile was all that I could take,
As my poor thighs and flanks refuse to cease
Reminding me. O Tylenol! Some peace!

My New House Had A Surprise In Store For Me

The month of April's cruelest, Thomas said
(By Thomas I mean Eliot, T.S.).
While he meant more its goading from the "dead"
The dormant plants and flowers, I'll profess
A crueler face of April is by far
The storms of spring, the snowfall and the wind
That drives it into drifts, buries one's car,
And barricades one's house. Have I so sinned
In gloating o'er the beauties of my home
That I should so be cursed and have to dig
Through waist-deep snow to leave? Oh how the foam
Did fleck my face as I fought 'gainst those big
Waist-deep drifts with a less than perfect tool
A plastic shovel! Yeah, I'm super-cool.

I Did My Bit for Global Warming, and I'll Do It Again Before January is Out

I thought, perhaps, I'd ride my bike today
As morning dawned, so bright and clear and clean.
My plans on sober pond'ring went astray;
The cold wind in my face, also the sheen
Of hoarfrost glitt'ring all around the place
Belied, indeed, my window's invitation.
Astride my bike, I go at a good pace,
Much rapider than in p'rambulation.
A walk with collie proved I'd be a fool
To let that cold wind hit with greater speed.
Am I a wimp? Oh well, I'm sure that you'll
Say so. I just didn't see the need
For pain. And so, though it's not very far,
I did my grocery shopping with my car.