The truth of my tendency to emasculate has, alas, been unmasked. Read on.
Warning. Humor alert. Okay, sort of. Okay, a little. Still.
Oh it started young, right?
The moment you show up with some steel in your backbone, when you say no to inappropriate advances, take bigger chances than the boys, suddenly you’re a b*ll breaker.
Here’s the definition:
A dominating or threatening woman who destroys a man’s confidence.
I had to pick myself up off the floor after that one.
Look, my whole life, right? I happen to like badass sports, I joined the Army, survived a slew of sexual attacks starting with incest. Late in life I climbed a very large mountain and then hurled myself into adventure travel. The nerve. Really.
My first major sport was skydiving. I had also started to lift, being the only female in the gym on Fort McNair at the time. How is that breaking the guy’s b*lls?
I'm just lifting here. Not talking to you. Not screaming HUGE like a numbnut. Just lifting.
The assumption here is that by simply showing up and doing things that the boys can’t, won’t, or are too terrified to do themselves, I’m busting their b*lls.
I’ll show you busting b*lls. There’s a scene in Goodfellas featuring Joe Pesci. Got it? This one:
That, gentlemen, is having your b*lls busted.
Simply showing up doing interesting things in life isn't breaking anyone's b*lls unless said b*lls are the ego equivalent of a soap bubble.
Which, kinda, check out social media, right?
My willingness to climb big mountains, skydive, scuba dive, horse ride in some of the world’s wildest places, kayak the Arctic Ocean- should I stop there? Nope? Leap off Croatia’s tallest bridge, paraglide, balloon, raft Class V rapids on the Nile in Jinja... You get it.
Not bragging when you've done it.
Still doing it, just up on blocks for minor surgery right now. Soon as that is done I have to hit the trails, the gym, all of it.
Just the fact that I will go do it while the delicates cower on the shore line, sideline or finish line while women like me do the real work amounts to busting their b*lls. (to the please see the recent video of Viola Davis et.al. training for The Woman King. You want to see badass? Go here).
To the title.
So I’m recovering from hand surgery, right? I had the CMC joint removed and a bionic piece of wire installed. OH it hurt all right. That was five weeks ago. So now that I am past most of the worst of it, I needed something to start strengthening my hand so that I could get back to the gym.
Gotta get the grip back, the strength of the squeeze, so that I can start doing pullups and ease back into pushups.
Which is another point of contention: when I have the use of both hands I routinely do 100 men's pushups daily, no rests, no stops, no histrionics. Been doing it for years and years. For some just that fact breaks their itty bitty jewels.
However by contrast? Saga Supporter Jim Stutsman, who hadn't done pushups in decades, took up the gauntlet. He's now up to eighty. Some of his shirts no longer fit the arms. Nuff 'said. He wrote me today he is well on his way to seeing his abs for the first time since, well. Let him write about it and I will share his story.
The way I see it, you can feel like yours are broken or you can grow a pair.
But I digress.
I’m in Thailand. Just the idea of trying to find a tennis ball around here is a joke. Or a lacross ball. You get it.
So I got creative. I bought two teardrop-shaped, dark red makeup sponges at the local 7-11. I had some kinesiotape. I cut and fashioned it so that I could wrap the two sponges into a harder-to-squeeze PT ball.
It isn't just that I want to lift again. Grip strength is a seriously good indicator of overall health- don't listen to me, see this:
So yeah. I'm ready, right?
So I pick the damned thing up- now mind you I didn't realize that the color of my Rocktape would absolutely give it away, and here you go:
There you have it folks. Proof of my intention all along. I must have been born to it.
However I still have the last laugh. For every time I give these bad boys a squeeze I will be thinking about all the guys who were SO threatened, SO angry, SO put out that I would dare pull a Beryl Markham on 'em (my muse, I wish I were a fraction of what she was), I will squeeze even harder.
Thanks, soap bubble boys. I appreciate the motivation.
As for the asterisks above? Because: tone police who have no sense of humor.
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