Two Moments from the Iron Age

Some readers might know that I have been working out for the last six months or so, and took a break when I moved. But Friday was my first day back on the plan, and this morning was a leg/ab day. Boring, I know. But it gets better. The facility at my new apartment has an incline sit-up bench, something I was eager to work in to the routine. As it turns out, it appears that I have never worked my lower abs before in my lifetime. I got through the sit-ups all right, but by the last set, my belly seemed full of pickle brine. Afterwards, I was sure I had been poisoned. Even breakfast could not cure the vitriolic misery that was my entire midsection this morning. Time's healing power cured me by noon. But what a start. On the bright side, if it sucks that bad, it has to help, right? Right? IN OTHER NEWS, THE IRON AGE SPANNED AN ENTIRE DECADE AS A YOUNG MAN ESTABLISHED HIS INDEPENDENCE AND MASCULINE IDENTITY. DETAILS AT ELEVEN.

The other moment of Iron: the workout was suggested by a great friend and it was definitely a good thing to do. We began together in his home gym and both acheived success and great satisfaction doing so. I try not to be too superficial, so I view the benefits as additional energy, added strength, instillment of order in my life, and so on. But there was one moment of blissful superficial delight this summer. I went ballroom dancing with a lady friend, a really beautiful smart young woman. I had a thing for her once, and she put a stop to that. But we went dancing as friends, and my moment was this: when she was first told to put her left hand between my right bicep and shoulder, she placed her hand there lightly, hesitated, made eye contact, and then her hand relaxed. That moment of surprise to feel my muscle (not that it's anything incredible) was a truly great one. Certainly worth a morning of pickle brine.