Fierce...

So, I’ve been taking boxing lessons. I like boxing. It’s sweaty hot but very good cardio. My trainer told me today that I’m ‘fierce’ and hit hard – very hard.  I thought she was just joking because I’m always joking around with her about my ‘fists of fury’ as I bob and weave and punch at her. But no, she was serious. Apparently, I hit hard. Very, very hard and she reckons I could take out a lot of people if pushed. Aww…that’s a nice compliment. It made me smile. Maybe other people would like to be noticed and complimented for the way they look. I like that I’m considered fierce.

I credit it all to genetics. My father was an amateur boxer in his youth. Mind you, living in the slums, as he did, you had to be ready to defend yourself.

Fierce looks good on me.   

Girly girl...

So, I was running along the Cairns Esplanade last Friday for Boot camp. Boot camp means running, sweating, pain and swearing a lot. The last three I do really well. Anyway, our perennially perky, super fit trainer ran a bit with me and she was impressed I was light on my feet – but apparently I run strangely. Of course I do. Doing it normally would not be me.  I’m strange. Peculiar. Different. Anyway, I listened to what she said and took her advice on board because she’s the expert, I respect her words and I'm always determined to do better.

Today at the gym I made a concerted effort to run less strangely. It was hard. Very hard. It then it occurred to me, after much looking at the way I ran in the mirror and almost falling over, that was the way I was supposed to run. I run like a girl. I'm a girly, girl. I’m damn proud of it. Try and keep up with me will ya?