I got home Wednesday night at about 9:30. I’d spent the evening getting yelled at by a guy who saw nothing wrong with leaving his underwear on top of the bookshelves–my reluctance to indulge him in his de-drawering led him to call me a “fascist.”
Which is to say that I needed to unwind, but I was out of opium and absinthe and nobody wanted to get frisky with me.
I had decided that day to try and qualify for the amateur Highland Games World Championships in 2013. It’s a long shot, but if I can qualify in October, 2013 will be that much more exciting.
But to win, you have to throw, and to throw each day and work my schedule, sometimes you might have to throw at night, at 9:30, in your backyward, when the sun is a distant memory.
So, time to unwind.
I haven’t made any of the Highland Games throwing implements yet, but I’ve got designs that I might eventually get around to. This night I would toss the kettlebell around the yard a bit.
My technique is horrible, but I still had some control. Janette talked to me from the porch while I spun and heaved and the 25 lb kettlebell landed in her garden, precariously close to the tomato plants.
But on the final throw, everything went to hell. The second it left my hand I thought Okay, here we go. It was too dark to see where the bastard would land, so I just hoped real hard.
It was still progress. I had thrown it a good 35 feet, right onto the roof of our house.
This…did not please Janette greatly, but it was sort of great after I realized that nobody had gotten hurt.
But there’s an easy way around this: throw it all the way over the house next time.