It was finally cool enough to work out in our garage rather than at the gym.
Avery and I lifted weights and I hit the punching bag.
I increased the intensity of my blows just because I thought my hands had hardened up pretty well over the past several weeks. This resulted in two things.
My wife noted that hitting the punching bag looked pretty manly. She’s seen me dead lift and squat nearly 400 pounds in the same day and just gave me a fist bump. But watching me punch an invincible target that never gets hurt, tired, or offended looked manly. I know she’ll support me if I have to fight this guy:
It also resulted in some of my skin peeling off when I washed my hands later. It wasn’t from abrasions, it was just from pounding. It happens.
But then at church, somebody asked, “Who have you been punching?” “I don’t punch anybody,” I said. Silently, I reasoned that I was just exercising like a young man at the wrong age.