11.11.08 Marlboro Man, A Beauty Queen And The Cuban Assassin
Brian is a gifted man. He’s an organizer, a lover of spread sheets, a great speaker, model father, worshipful listener and he can strip you of your self-esteem with one punchline. Or a hundred. Depending upon his mood.
When I’m around and he has a new audience I’m an easy target. Such was the case in the Dominican Republic. And, lucky for him, I was way too stressed and overworked to fight back. ‘Cause I can bring it if I need to. But there wasn’t enough caffeine in the Dominican Republic to get that part of my brain working right on so little sleep and such restless sleep.
But I’m rested now.
And I have pictures.
I was holding up just fine when Brian was the only one jabbing away at me. I laughed. We laughed. Fun was had by all. And then the sarcasm began to spread - a sure (and twisted) sign that folks have accepted you into their herd, I’d like to think. First, Melanie started roasting me for presumably being a wuss because I’m both a musician and a Baylor grad. Now that I have my wits about me I would like to point out to Melanie that neither is my doing entirely. By his grace God made me more talented than her and gave me a scholarship to a higher institution of learning at which “whoooooop” is not recognized as an actual English word and where musicians are those who play well and not just loudly while standing in a square. (And it was six to one girls to guys at Baylor in those days. Them’s good odds. And there’s no denying the love many of those women had for musicians now is there?)
Then it was Marlboro Man‘s turn. I was walking with my friend Keely through a rough neighborhood. I wasn’t her only protection. That needs to be made clear. I’m not delusional. A large large man without a neck named Ivan was the real muscle. I knew this. I am aware that my size alone makes no one feel secure. Yet Marlboro Man just had to point this out to the rest of the group in case there were any doubters. I believe the exact quote had him stating that it was a good thing Ivan was with us because the whole “buck o five of Shaun” sure isn’t going to keep anyone safe. To which I have a witty comeback this morning but will not type it for fear of retribution from a man who regularly “mugs” cows, eats fried calf testicles and bites horse ears for a living. This sort of man, I suspect, might not play nice if provoked and might have enough land to make me “disappear.” But, for the record, I am a buck o forty seven point five. So. There. I’m rubber, you’re glue.
So, yesterday morning, with my self-esteem as thin as my biceps, thanks to a week with many “friends,” I went to the gym with my wife. By “gym” I mean that place full of stay-at-home moms soft rockin’ to Jason Mraz and Kelly Clarkson while stair stepping and ab crunching. The woman who taught our class trains women for pageants. And she kicked my butt. And not just a little bit. In the shower this morning there were large portions of my small body I could not wash because of a lack of cooperation from major muscle groups like my entire chest, both arms, my butt and legs. But I’m gonna kick some tail in the evening gown competition now for sure.
But yesterday, as butt-kicking as it was, was just a warm-up. Tonight, I’ll face the Cuban Assassin for the first time in two weeks.
He will tie an elastic band around me and make me drag him around a room. He will have me hoist a heavy bar over my head and run around the parking lot. He will make me kick things and throw things and I will want to give up. But I won’t. Instead I will envision Brian’s, Melanie’s and Marlboro Man’s faces on that medicine ball and chuck it farther than a medicine ball has ever been chucked. They have given me the eye of the tiger. And if the eye of the tiger is not enough to get me through the day’s workout, well, I plan on bribing the Assassin with a Cuban cigar I bought while in the Dominican Republic.
