So Neal and I both stopped doing P90X essentially after starting it. On my end, I'm not quite sure of the timeline, even as broadly as what happened during the P90X days, but I fell pretty badly on my elbows (did I tell you?) and I thought I had broken them for a bit, but then the hilarious swelling went down and I moved on with my life. I still can't do some yoga positions, though, because I can't lean on my forearms because my elbows are still tender. I also hurt my shoulder, not sure doing what, but the pain was gone for a while - I think climbing really helps - and now it's back. I think it was excalated by doing yoga as well, which is a bummer. I haven't been on the mat with serious practice since the 21 day yoga challenge, which I believe was in February. THEN, good grief, I threw my back out. I had spent the day prior helping a friend of mine move some incredibly weighty printing machines (she runs a letterpress), and it felt fine. But then, what did I do - play with the dog? Get out of bed? Pour myself some cereal? Something foolish like that, but I couldn't really move for a week or so. So P90X did happen, for a good three weeks or so probably, at least on my end, although certain days were missed either due to life's chaos or exercise of another sort such as climbing or riding. But I certainly did not approach the program with the diligence with which I approached it last summer, and I think that diligence is what's most important, because next to writing, exercise is the easiest thing for me to convince myself not to do (writing being my favorite thing to do, of course, followed immediately by physical exhersion).
And now this whole past March, since I went to Chicago for AWP and E. tore apart the bathroom with the charming expectation of having it put back together upon my return, bless his heart, our whole house has been a construction site, complete with dirt, sawdust, dog vomit (apparently he threw up twice today during the battle of house v. shower surround) and other dog wastes, butt cracks, cat calls (and calling at cats, as it's springtime and the wild cats are out again), cursing, ice cream sandwishes, hoagie wrappers and 2-liter soda bottles, plaster and fiberglass and their appropriate dusts and also of course the illnesses that come with breathing in those dusts for a month. We're nearing the end, though, though E. may disagree, so hopefully we'll have our livingroom back soon and I'll be able to jump around like an idiot again.
I also had three poetry readings this month, which I'm pretty proud about. And have been editing a friend's manuscript. I missed the deadline for a few manuscript competitions, something I'm kicking myself for, but pretending it's okay since my friend still has my manuscript and hopefully will give it back to my with some excellent suggestions.
