After Alan dropped me off near my apartment this morning, I went to get breakfast because I hadn't eaten yet. While reading the latest issue of Entertainment Weekly, I saw that "Tennessee Tuxedo and His Tales", a cartoon I watched on Saturday mornings in 1963 (yes, I told my age again), has finally been released on DVD. It was a struggle to crawl out of bed early this morning, something I had no problem doing when I was a kid. The three major networks started the cartoons on Saturday at 6:00 AM. I was planted in front of the TV in my pajamas with a bowl of cereal in my hands until noon. I fought with my younger sister and brother about what we were going to watch. I usually won. I miss those days. I still find it outrageous that NBC now runs an extra edition of the "Today" show on Saturdays in place of cartoons.
If we were back in the 1960s and early 1970s, I would have been whining this morning, "But I'll miss my cartoons!" while on my way to the gym. But truthfully, I needed the extra workout as much as Brandy needed the extra practice. Brandy and I were outside the field house doors when Mary opened up. Mary was surprised to see me. "I usually don't see you here today," she said. I explained that Alan was coming in to open the gym. He had thought about doing a workout alongside us, but then he figured in that he had to go to temple afterwards.
Brandy had gone to the Golden Gloves this past Thursday to check out the scene. She made some very good observations about the fighters who competed. "Some were standing there slumped down in the middle of the first round. I knew they had already lost. Others were waiting to get one good punch in to end the fight instead of throwing enough punches," she said. She enjoyed her time down there that night. Brandy discovered that there are only four women signed up in her weight class. All she has to do is win her first fight, then the second one will the one for the championship. Alan smiled, "We're in! They can give us the belt now."
We were in the gym for a little over an hour. Brandy and I sparred for three good rounds. I was popped in the stomach a few times. The first time I took such a hit, I went "oof!", doubled over a little, and stepped back and away. "When somebody has that reaction after taking that type of a hit," Alan told Brandy, "stay on them." I rushed Brandy with a mix of punches, and twice she grabbed my arms to stop me. "That was the first time I saw you grab someone twice," Alan told her. There was a few times when I rushed forward, and Brandy let me get too close. "It's based on points, so you can't let someone get too many hits in. Grab her to stop them," Alan instructed.
After the second round, Alan asked who was sighing after the bell rang. "It was probably the old woman," I said, referring to me. Brandy and I worked the heavy bags after sparring, then we did a burn out for two rounds. My right arm was crying after the first round of that, but I pushed on through the second round.
Still haven't received my new coach's passbook yet. But I'm assuming the fire I lit under the post office yesterday worked because I did receive my other mail. Late Thursday afternoon, a postal carrier had the nerve to tell another neighbor and I that she would not deliver mail on Friday, and maybe not Saturday either. Workmen in my apartment building are remodeling the front lobby. Conditions aren't dangerous enough to prevent anyone from walking through the lobby. Plus, the mailboxes have now been moved right next to the front door. The postal carrier doesn't have to come that far into the building anymore to deliver mail. What, was she worried about dust getting on her clothes? I resented the fact that the postal carrier felt they could make a judgement call about whether or not to deliver property that belongs to me. I sent an email to the post office, put in a call to them, and informed the building's management company.
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