By the time I got home from the one o’clock class I was dead. Coach had worked us hard on Friday with really technical stuff. The technical stuff that I need to be working on flavor, speed, explosiveness…qipo. But the hamstrings hated me for it. I only pissed them off more on Saturday. After I went up and talked to a walk-in about the school for 15 min in the middle of the class I returned to find that the musles in my thigh were in full self defense mode. Tried a 3 kick drill. I just walked off the floor annoyed. After class we had to practice for a demo, one that no one knew about. But we were suspicious when the Chinese girls showed up. Coach yelled at me about the straight sword set, said I was doing little things wrong, like left hand position, said it looked like I forgot it. Of course she didn’t seem to remember that I wasn’t in this set last time, and as result they changed it to accommodate the different participants. Like hell I am gonna do that new old-old fight set in the middle! Daayum!

I get home and I am a total ass to Kelly. Just exhausted and hurting. She has been baking like crazy, sure Sean was there to help (play video games), but she was up to her elbows in some sort of raspberry moose. Honestly the cake was of the most complicated things I have ever seen. Spring form pans, moose, whipping cream, removal of raspberry seeds, shaved chocolate, every spatula and bowl we own-twice, no to mention the cake is self. But we are in a hurry to get this thing ready to take along to Danny’s so it will be ready for Jeannie’s birthday. She winds up vetoing taking it along, and we just call the fellas and tell them they will have to return to our place if they want to eat this beast. We show up at the restaurant an hour late, not entirely our fault, to find ‘em standing at the bar. Alone.

Eat a bean and beef burrito, with juice. Return home.

Eventually the cake and presents and playing with the cats winds up and we have a new plan to go out. Because of the aforementioned hell wushu class I bitch to Kelly about this the entire drive out to Ballston. She says I should go sleep at Danny’s. I ever so impolitely refuse. We board the metro for DuPont. That is one really long escalator. Everyone was talking up it. Just like last time when we went there and I was exhausted with a side of leg pain, I attempted to walk up it.

We did pass a large gathering of bike messengers meeting in the circle. Headed to the bar and found an empty shuffle board table. I was driving, so I figured I could drink one or two and stop, or not drink at all. Though hard about it and decided I needed something else. Precious caffeine. I went to Starbucks and got some coffee. 30 minutes later I was playing shuffle board and not noticing my legs. My hamstrings were still hurty, but I didn’t notice my lower legs at all.

Starbucks was closing as I made my purchase, and it’s tricky to get into the bar with a beverage, so while I was drinking my coffee I sat on one of the benches in the circle. This turned out to be more exciting than normal. Because normally it would be pretty fun. But tonight we had the bike messengers there. Fixed gears, no breaks, Timbuk2 and Ortlieb bags everywhere. They were getting ready for their fun messenger race, handing out manifests. They all knew each other, it was a very intriguing social group. I am gonna be a bike messenger when I grow up simply for the sub-culture. They remind me of a less hostile skater scene, or martial artists with out the politics. So many different kinds of people—diversity with a common unique style. Plus their own special definition of hardcore.