Last Training Session – Mid Oct 2013

The day before our last training session bK and I got into an argument ostensibly because I left the A/C on despite the fall weather and he thinks I did it maliciously. I guess it is possible that deep down inside I was hoping he would catch a cold before his wedding but really all I was concerned about was not getting sweaty before we consummate the session properly. At any rate his outburst led to a spat, which led to the team getting redressed and cancellation of the day’s “intimate interlude”. A terrible outcome given our limited remaining time. Shiiiiiit.

Later that evening we went through the same debate via text and ultimately resolved it – a/k/a I apologized for keeping the A/C on after he (allegedly) repeatedly said it was chilly. #sorrynotsorry 😉

On what would be our last training day, bK shows up with a swollen knee and he has trouble making it up the stairs. He does not have trouble taking his clothes off. I suspect it will be our last training day since his wedding is nine days away, but we don’t discuss that topic so I am not yet sure when exactly he will be leaving for the big day. I am sorry that bK’s knee is injured but it puts him at my mercy more than usual throughout the session. I may even have molested him as he limped up the stairs.

I can’t recall clearly what topics we discuss as we engage in a combination of exercise and foreplay. I explore and play with his body without restraint, and he with mine. Sparks of anticipation shoot down my spine as he moves up close, “explaining” some exercise or another while caressing me. The burgeoning lips and increasing dampness between my legs border on uncomfortable as I feel his nipples harden under my grazing fingertips and watch and feel his dick swell, harden and damn near double in size in my grasp. The wetness glistening shortly thereafter at his tip punctuate our impatience with the routine that must be completed before we can let the growing need consume us and ravish each other. Usually at this time of the month, I would skip our sensual forays but today I’m relying on SoftCup (http://softcup.com/about/product-info) and I hope it will be able to take it. SoftCup is the truth for active and clean comfort during exercise etc. and it has held up through squats, lunges and power walking. But today, I need will be asking for much more.

I am brazen in the freedom with which I touch and navigate the contours of bK’s body, lingering everywhere I please. Exercise is less of a priority today. The other drawback is SoftCup, which has me for the first time ill at ease with the boldness of his stroke. bK senses this and after a while incorrectly interprets it as a sign that I am not interested in sex this morning, sighs and gets dressed. What?! No, no, no!! I continue through the last two exercises naked while he watches, dressed and seated on the couch. It feels something like I’d imagine it does to be on stage trying to earn cash for those last couple of credits. Except that there are no bills being showered upon me, just a constant and palpable gaze in a silence that is occasionally broken with an exercise countdown.

As I finish the last exercise I am reflecting on what appears to be a bootleg ending to our experience and I decide to skip the treadmill. bK is amenable to the abbreviated session and he starts to get up from the couch to gather his bags. Without saying anything, I walk over and slide my hands under his shirts and begin to caress his velvety skin, reveling in the steely form of the well-defined muscles sheathed beneath the velvet. I push him back slightly and with his gimpy knee he lands right back on the couch. I straddle him and continue massaging lightly southward along his granite thighs, avoiding for now, the growing bulge increasingly protruding from his sweats. He doesn’t move or say anything other than that his knee won’t be able to support me. I glide my hands further along his thighs, allowing my knuckles to graze his thickness from time to time but no more than that. bK is trying to playing it as cool despite his body’s obvious reaction because he thinks I spurned his touch earlier. Pride. Still his ragged breathing, his nipples threatening to burst through the layers of his shirts and the rigid pole tenting up his sweats to his left tell it all. Watching his body win the battle over his mind turns me on even more. Plus I understand the conflict.

A couple of minutes pass before bK finally grabs me by the hips to place me aside before standing up and quickly stripping. By the time he leans back to me I am already up on the couch urging him on wordlessly. He pulls me toward him and starts to give me something I can feel when we notice a critical item missing – the one time the French ninja letter forgot the gold packet. We pause while he slips a condom on and then he is back, rubbing his tumescence against my cheeks. I can feel the beat of his pulsing cock against my ass. Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum against the smooth chocolate skin of my African drums. That’s the sound of the team naked and frothing to connect on a sensual level immediately. He rests against me to support some of his weight as I reach back and wrap fingers around his throbbing dick and guide him inside me. He circles his right hand around one of my breasts and thrusts slowly as deeply as he can.

And the tip of his dick bangs right up on the fucking SoftCup.

We could have paused and I could have explained what it was. But neither of us has time for that. bK uses his hardness to nudge it aside and our slow, deep ride to ecstasy begins. He plays with breasts with one hands and fondles my clit with the other while he pumps with deep and slow precision. My senses are under assault on multiple fronts and it is delicious. I arch back and into him – the source of pleasure curled over and around me, popping back against his groin to the rhythm of his thrusts. Off in the background I hear some idiot sounding like she is trying to recreate those old herbal essences commercials. Wait – that’s me. I wish I would shut up but I can’t stop. The lust is loose and we are in the groove. It would be cruel and unjust for our motion to stop just yet. I reach back with my right hand to caress his balls, rolling one and then the other gently within his soft sac. Gentle globes deserving of my tender touch. bK groans his approval. I slip a little further along the sensitive area underneath as bK continues to deliver stroke after delightful stroke.  With thoughts of nothing but the sensations of our entwined bodies in motion, we take our time, lost in and scaling the heights of passion.

It was a little messy given the displaced SoftCup, but that is fitting.

About a week later he got married and moved and I stopped working out with a personal trainer anymore. Some experiences cannot be duplicated.:)

A little bit of this:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H6syUR_34dw

But more of this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tQzGhEkjNJY

 And a forever favorite to round out 2014:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IoP1M3vwnoU

Holiday Celebrations

Creative problem solving is important in all aspects of life.  Since we cannot acknowlege that we want to continue our intimate interludes until bK leaves NYC in a couple of weeks, I propose that we celebrate holidays by working out/training naked. Almost every day is a holiday somewhere.

Unfortunately, Guinea-Bissau Independence Day, the first holiday following my suggestion, is celebrated fully clothed and peppered with passive aggressive commentary. I expect better on Dominion (New Zealand) and Revolution (Yemen) Days later in the week but bK tells me that he doesn’t “do anyone’s independence day” though he will be happy to observe me observe them.  I invoke the magic words – I thought we were a “team” and he replies that he will “see how the team shows up to the door”. I show up to the door with nothing on except a silk kimono and socks on the next workout day.

Lock picked.

After that, Dominion Day, World Vegetarian Day, Nigerian Independence Day and World Heart Health Day, among others, become important “holidays” that we must properly commemorate. I start consulting Wikipedia once or twice a week for the right “holiday” that falls on a scheduled workout day and then let bK know what we will be “celebrating”.  Our agreement that the last time was “THE last time” is thrown out the window. This carnal ship is having trouble going silently into the night.

My favorite of these “holidays” is World Heart Health Day.  What better way to observe a day dedicated to cardiovascular health than a good cardio warm-up followed by an exercise session laced with stolen caresses that get our hearts racing? I use the breaks in between sets to trace my hands along the muscled contours of bK’s shoulders, chest and stomach before sweeping down to his thighs. I skip past his dick (for now) — he should get a taste of how torturous those early massages could be. Eventually I’m drawn back to his wonderful ass, cupping a cheek in each hand – squeezing those taut muscles could be an exercise in itself.

Treating bK’s body as my playground and teasing him does not come without a price. bK starts roving as soon as I am occupied with the next exercise.  Squeezing, probing and stroking every exposed inch. We continue our own experiment – how much lust and sensual exploration can one mix with exercise before combustion?  We are keeping it casual so despite the building desire we try to sound level and unaffected as our conversation flows from one topic to another.

Supposed to be casual. I can’t conceal the tropical storm brewing between my thighs from his touch.  bK has even less of a shot of hiding his thick c—k throbbing against his left side.  At least not until he buries it inside me.  Even without the physiological evidence, our increased heart rates contradict the veneer of the tranquility as we continue talking.  Conversation becomes sporadic and as we get closer to that magic moment when I reach the last set of the final exercise we are barely speaking.  We have more important things to focus on.  bK is ready even as I finish the last arm lift. After all this time I am still amused by the speed with which he gets a condom on.  It is almost seamless and with the briefest of breaks in contact we are ready to soar. He could teach a class.

bK places my still sneaker-clad legs on his shoulders, leans forward and slips his c—k deep inside me. I envelope his torso with my thighs and squeeze. We begin to move to the rhythm beating along silently in our heads. No background music, heavy breathing, sighs of enjoyment, whispers of encouragement, pleas to continue and the steady clap of our bodies in motion provide the only soundtrack needed.

Hips swiveling and pushing against each other as bK pumps further inside me. I feel every inch of the length and breadth of his d—k with each rotation and I rise to meet each thrust. Everyone would exercise if it felt this good. I wrap my arms around him taking care not to scratch his back. No need to leave evidence. We continue this beautiful motion as the pressure intensifies and the heat builds. Eventually we pick up the tempo, turning into a mindless unit team focused on nothing but rocking together to unbridled release. We both climax with an intensity that leaves us temporarily drained.  We remain joined for some time then continue to relax in quiet recovery on the towel for even longer. I skipped the post-coitus treadmill cool-down.

 

July 2013 (Ramadan)

Have you ever been on a really good vacation?  In a space in which you can cast aside your responsibilities and concerns about your day-to-day and just focus on doing what you feel like when you feel like it?  You can, and do, immerse yourself in the sights, sounds, thrills, smells and sensations of your environment.  But try as you might, the knowledge that this hedonistic period is finite lurks somewhere in recesses of your mind.  Unwanted though it is, that recognition magnifies the importance of enjoying every – single – day.   A steady flow of gratification of one variety or another is a requirement.  And so you do what you can to meet the surgeon general’s recommended dosage faithfully.

Imagine then, that during one such vacation, your days of contentment are harshly interrupted by illness or foul weather.  That’s you sitting in the window, sick, while the rest of the world seemingly enjoys your damn vacation.  You are stuck in a punishing time warp in which each day crawls along as you huddle under your self-pity blanket, brooding and morose over your holiday benching, while paradoxically those same days hurtle by as you watch your vacation days dwindle away into nothing.  Your mind becomes preoccupied with all the activities that you are missing, the opportunities foregone and when, when, for fuck’s sake (literally), will your time-out be over so that you can return to enjoying what’s left of your vacation?  And also, where is that second caipirinha you ordered with your lunch?

THAT is the onset of a thirty-day fasting period in July when you are f–king with someone with a hard stop set for August (the month I eventually set as my end date).

Our last workout before the beginning of the fast starts out like any other.  bK arrives and we strip down to underwear before I warm up on the treadmill.  We talk about how our respective weeks are going, current family and news events but nothing memorable.  As is now par for the course, we let our fingers do the walking as we explore each other’s bodies, touching and teasing here, there and everywhere, as I work through the exercises.  Somewhere along the second set of exercises, the conversation stops and the silence is broken only by our increasingly labored breathing and his occasional exercise counts.  By the last set of exercises his boxer briefs and my thong have somehow evaporated and we are naked.  He demonstrates a plank modification for the umpteenth time while I sit on his back and test his ability to maintain the position while I fondle and gently massage the tip of his di-k.  Just the tip today – he is so sensitive there that a few seconds is all takes for beads of moisture to start to collect on my fingers.  bK maintains the position for a while longer until he suddenly bounces up (save the eruptions for later) and it’s time for me to do the exercise.  You reap what you sow and as soon as I am in position he takes full advantage of his access to my body.  My arms and abs are not the only things on fire while I try to hold still for a full 45 seconds.  We continue like this for three sets.  By the last set my main thought is whether I am going to turn around and rest my legs on his shoulders or whether I’m going to take it easy on this one to save some energy for the treadmill.  It’s one of those choices where either way I’m f-cked 🙂

I hear and sense bK drop to the carpet as the count nears the last five seconds.  At zero, he leans forward so that he is lying on top of me without resting his full body weight on me, wraps my right leg around his thigh and places his hands on top of mine on either side of my head.  His mouth is on my ear as he slips inside me.  [His cock goes in with so much happiness, it should be sitting on a ritz©.]  For several moments we just stay that way, bodies joined, mute and still.  Taking stock as my body contours to, and envelops, his swollen and throbbing dick.

After the clit, the entrance to, and lower part of, the vagina contain the most concentration of nerve endings – today the emphasis is on every single one.  When we start moving, the main action is the base of his cock circling around and rubbing against my inner lips and just inside my aching pu–y.   Sensory overload as each and every nerve ending seems attuned to his dick rubbing gently against me.  Sweet glory in the morning…the sensations coursing through me as his rigid staff circles against my inner lips, slowly revolving against and around the entry to the ultimate sanctum of our pleasure — it feels so right, even though it’s so wrong…without sin how can one ever appreciate the beauty of forgiveness?  With each rotation, electric shots of pleasure radiate from my core throughout the rest of my body.  Even my toes are tingling.  An internal battle is raging in my body pu–y.   The first half does not want his cock to shift  further or otherwise change his motion but the second half is calling, urging him to plunge deeper inside.  It is a temporary conflict – peacefully resolved as we begin to gyrate, pressing and grinding against one another — his movements tempered as he plunges slowly but deeper and deeper inside me —  and both halves get what they are asking for.  It’s as though we have all the time in the world and in this moment the only goal is to maintain this silent line of communication until our hunger is completely fed.  He is barely thrusting, his dick never leaves the molten shelter provided and we continue our synchronized motion.  No “lovers after all” playlist, no music at all, just the sounds of our mutual delight. We are moving so slowly that with each shift I  feel each inch of his cock against my walls.  bK is now partially resting his weight on me but the only pressure computing is  between my legs.  He whispers something, that is hard to decipher but then again I have no idea what I am whispering in response either.  Our bodies have more urgent matters to address.  He moves further inside me and I arch up beneath him to accommodate the longer stroke.  Hhhhhmmm, each stroke is measured, deep and sensuous.  A nice morning drive up the mountains – slow and winding to the peak, and every bit as exhilarating.  No rush to the top and the destination is definitely worth it.

Afterwards, we rest in the same position we started for a couple of minutes.  I am already thinking about the feasibility wondering of an afternoon session, but schedules will not allow – he has afternoon bikram and mentoring and I have work.

The cool down mile on the treadmill is too much for my legs to complete and so I stop early. This leads to stone face, stern voice and the start of a squabble that continues via text.  And thus lust turns to dust.

And then the FAST.

Our first workout during Ramadan is fully clothed.  Rather than concede that we are returning to these cumbersome barriers because of the fasting period, bK tells me that naked training affects his concentration and hinders his effectiveness as a trainer.  Maybe.  But it certainly heightens other things.  Childish, but I am still salty about the way that he addresses it and so even though we “agree” to return to normal training with only occasional nude days, the next few days are chilly.

No massage: Cancelled in first week and then Ramadan. 😦

Have you ever been sidelined during a vacation?  What did you do with your time?  It seemed like a good opportunity to complete the process and so I froze eggs.

Fasting music:

April/Blurred Lines

Our first workout after Easter is a mess.  As soon as I start warming up on the treadmill, he starts going in on what a farce Easter is, fake holiday blah blah blah.  I’m Catholic lite but the attack was so unwarranted that I am compelled to defend Easter.  Plus if I had done the same thing regarding anything to do with Islam, I know we would have been in silent workout mode with serious voice for exercise instructions.  The hypocrisy is galling.  The entire session turns into a stupid debate over priests (you can guess the go-to argument there) and all the fallacies of Catholicism.  Nothing on Islam though.  I am ready for the workout to be over.  It’s doubly tiring to argue/shout while on a treadmill.  Later in the day bK sends me a classic “if I offended you or your faith” apology that he immediately undercuts with his observations about the increased blood circulation between my thighs while I was doing ab work during our debate.  I mention but then drop the pervasive double standard in these conversations.  If I had a bigger vocabulary, I would use another word for dysfunction to avoid repetition – sorry. 

At some point, we take a break so that bK can travel for a family funeral.  While down south he texts me that he needs to extend his stay because his sister is dealing with pregnancy issues.  Funny enough when I ask how she is doing a few weeks later he acts like he doesn’t know what I’m talking about.  I don’t bother pushing, I know how this movie ends  – if I push he’ll get evasive or defensive and it will escalate into a fight.  Ain’t nobody got time for that!  At least not this time…  And so April continues in roller-coaster fashion and at the end of the month we negotiate a new rate at the end of the month at a deep discount (I deserve it 🙂).  bK mentions a new sunning location for 2013.

Massage: 

bK starts out with a normal massage as always – my neck, shoulders and back.  He uncovers my lower body and starts with my legs.  By the time he begins to work on left thigh, I am already tense with anticipation and a little wet.  bK’s hands start to massage my inner left thigh, his fingers grazing my lips with light teasing touches.  Forecast calls for high temperatures and a lot of precipitation.  After a few minutes I have had enough and I ask him to move further up and inside.  He is coy about it and asks for more specific direction – but we both know there is only one direction he can head.  His hands creep higher into my groin area and then two fingers finally slide into home.  Hmmmmm!  How do you spell (temporary) relief?  T-w-o-f-i-n-g-e-r-s-g-e-n-t-l-y-i-n-s-e-r-t-e-d-m-o-v-i-n-g-i-n-c-o-n-c-e-r-t.  He strokes slowly, at first barely inside, but then gradually he explores deeper, fingers firm and lingering along my vaginal muscles and plunging deeper still.  Aaah, lady nani is happy at last to be a guest at the massage party and as luck would have it she is the guest of honor.  This is not a happy ending as much as an homage to my p—y.  I’m trying to keep the moans to a minimum and take it all in stride (some of this is still about control).  Soon it becomes obvious that every part of my body did not get the internal memo and before I am fully aware of it, my treacherous ass is bucking off the table, drawn by the sweet siren song of his magic digits.  Dammit.  But it feels so good.  Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know this is wrong, but I can’t stop and I have been so good for so long.  There should be some award for that. 

When he asks me to turn over so that he “can massage from the front”, I flip so quickly I almost rollover the table.  Having it my way this afternoon and now bK is showcasing his dexterity.  He softly massages my clit with two fingers, yet another two are pleasuring me from inside and yet another plays with my ass.  I am not typically into finger play but damn.  Somehow over the course of the massage he sprouted extra fingers and the sensual assault that he has unleashed is almost too much to bear.  My body is on fire.  bK has a look of intense focus and I appreciate the dedication to his craft!  An initial small orgasm but the ode to the V continues and with each touch the throbbing in my clit rebuilds.  I’m gaining momentum towards the release that all the previous massages hinted at.  Waves of pleasure roll over me with increasing intensity.  He is standing on my left side by my waist and I take advantage of his positioning to massage his right thigh with my left hand.  Gradually I work further up his thigh and into his boxer briefs and grasp his thickness.  bK hangs (and rises) to the left so even lying down from this angle I can stroke his stiff dick, kinda like grasping the clutch if you have ever driven stick in a foreign country.  I have. Well.  I let my fingers work up and down his dick slowly, intermittently stopping to show a little love to his increasingly moist tip.  He has a very sensitive tip.  I use his wetness as lube to further stroke him since I don’t have the benefit of massage oil to work with.  His fingers pick up steam as he gets more excited and soon I want more though I am trying not to break.  But pleasure is pleasure and I do break and ask about condoms so we can progress (safety first!).  He says none for him and finishes me off.  OK.  I guess the line is drawn at no intercourse.  For now anyway.  I thank him for the massage and get dressed while he uses the mix of almond oil and my juices on his hands to moisturize his body.  Watching him do so is a fresh turn on, but oh well.  For the first time in a while I go to brunch feeling nice and relaxed after a session.  And two and a half hours late.  I don’t look anyone in the eye when I blame my extreme tardiness on a late start to the day’s workout. 

Massage Rating:  9.9/10.  Self-control is overrated.  I played Lincoln and set our hands free.  I’m not sure I can go back to normal massages.  We get along well for the rest of the month after this massage.  🙂

In Like a Lion, Out Like a Lamb

At my birthday dinner we are all having a good time until we get into an argument after I feed a friend some food.  bK sees no irony in his reaction, but it’s my birthday so the party continues. 

At his birthday bowling party we are all having a good time until we get into an argument over one of the bills.  This one also blows over by the next day.

Training is still bipolar.  Some days it’s a good time and we have great conversations.  Other days, it is a tense and unhappy environment and we barely speak (other than serious voice for exercise instructions).  At some point, bK suggests that maybe I am perimenopausal.  Hilarious – and tempting fate since this is a guy who wants a child within the next year and is getting married to a woman two years older than me.  But, at my age, I guess that is a good go-to passive aggressive way to call me a bi-ch.  I counter with accusing him of suffering through prolonged PMS symptoms this winter.  None of it is very productive or mature, but at least we know where we stand.    Instead of two fat ladies in the kitchen and out and about the countryside, it is two bitchy teammates in the exercise room.  I’d like to think the resulting body is every bit as hot and tempting! 

Despite this unhealthy state of affairs, we continue with periodic naked training days and discuss investment opportunities in the village and other locations.  Honesty may not be his strong suit, but he is a good businessman with investments in a number of places, including a local lounge uptown that has some great classic drinks.  We typically discuss these opportunities with little follow through but maybe one day, plus it is a topic that doesn’t lead to fights.  At this point, things are tense enough that I consider ending the training sessions at the end of the first quarter.  Instead, we negotiate a set of make-up days and additional massages to make up for cancelled training days.  It doesn’t make sense to me either, but I did it.  

And then the massage:

By the time my next massage rolls around at the end of the month, we are close to complete silence, and definitely only serious voice, so I don’t know what to expect.  What I get is an excruciating, wonderful and openly salacious challenge to my continued attempt not to succumb to the carnal pleasure on offer…As usual, he starts out with more traditional massage of my neck, back, legs and other non-obviously erogenous areas.  And then he gets to my thighs and it all changes:  The pressure turns lighter, his fingers linger more with each motion and he massages my ass and thighs for long enough that he could probably mold them out of clay in the dark – and I damn sure want him to continue.  I know it’s not going to get better when I turn around, and by the time I do I’m dripping and the wet spot on the sheet isn’t small.  As soon as I flip over, the siege continues – his hands start at my lower thighs and slowly trace upwards in a “V” towards my sweet spot.  With each stroke his fingers get closer and closer together until his fingertips are touching and just barely tracing my inner lips.  Those treacherous lips are trembling (a first from a massage) and begging me to give in, “say uncle” and get to the main event.  But pride is a mutha.  I concentrate on keeping my mouth shut and breathing slowly.  The massage oil on his fingers is now heavily mixed with me, but he keeps going and switches up this stroke with a massage of my pubic bone that places just enough indirect pressure that my cl-t is getting some, but not enough, attention.  Help! We both know what the reasonable next step would be, but neither one of us wants to be the one to make the next move.  Can women get blue balls?  This goes on for at least 30 minutes when I think the timer goes off.  Saved by the bell!  I say thank you and hop off the table.

In a familiar state of relaxation combined with tension, I start getting dressed.  (You know I have brunch plans.)  Then we get into an argument because bK accuses me of taking advantage of him with our deal on massages.  Sigh.  Bye bye good vibes.  Our exchange continues on the subway and then by text when I have to get off (at least I get to do that when it comes to the metro;) 

As it turns out the vodka spiked mimos at brunch (new experience, tough Monday) give me enough liquid courage at some point in our text exchange (3 deep) that I finally let him know I’m pissed he didn’t think it was worth mentioning his engagement to me.  Too bad this portion the exchange was by text since it facilitated mutual cowardice.  He rationalizes that he figured I’d find out from our mutual friends and anyway it’s not appropriate for us to discuss it under the circumstances because it would completely change the context of our interaction. (Shouldn’t it change??)  I don’t view acknowledging something and discussing it as the same thing and I tell him as much, especially using code names for something we are both aware of.  bK says he understands that but stands by his main point.  It’s the 2013 No Apology tour.  

Massage Rating:  9.9/10; I second guessed my resistance well into brunch.  My resolve is fading, but the mood was soured by the post-massage argument.  The massage/argument combo does thaw the frost between us.

 

December 2012

On the first day of Christmas my trainer gave to me:  one bottle of almond oil; two hands rubbing said oil all over my body; four warming pads; ten fingers gliding up, down and around my ass, thighs and groin; countless trailing feather touches along my lips; teasing pressure everywhere around (but not in) the throbbing honeypot; and frustration in a pear tree. 

The cover sheet pretense is over and I stopped worrying about my body’s obvious response to his touch two massages ago.  Tranquil chants and music play in the background but the only thing I meditate on is how to make it through without moaning or escalating things.  I should mention bK gives me these massages in his underwear.  Physical and visual temptation in the desert – without any angels offering relief or reward if I survive without surrender.

Massage Rating:  Approximately 60 minutes long.  9.8/10.  Thoroughly enjoyed what was offered but did not ask for more.  Resolve steadily deteriorating.  I went to brunch very relaxed…and very tense. 

Whether rain or shine, pleasant or tense, serious voice or jokes – the workouts continue.  I am in the best physical shape I have been in since grad school.  Tomfoolery aside bK is a good trainer.