Dear faithful Readers,

I'm certain you've been refreshing this page (confidential to Mom: don't worry about what "refresh" means; it's just computer jargon) every twenty seconds since Saturday afternoon in hopes that I'd updated. "Natalie," you might be protesting right now, "I simply can't go an entire three days without finding out what happens next in the fascinating life that is yours." To which I would reply, with an empathetic pat (or two, depending how long I've known you) on your shoulder, "This is supposed to be a bi-weekly blog because I actually have better things to do with my time than enthrall strangers with daily updates." To which you would probably reply (perhaps with a smirk, depending on how long you've known me), "First of all, all you do when you're not updating this blog is online crossword puzzles, a habit that is bordering on addiction. And secondly, 'bi-weekly' means 'every two weeks,' not 'twice a week,' you idiot." After which I would give you a condescending smile no matter how long I've known you and reply, "First of all, you're wrong; I also doodle a lot. And secondly, 'bi-weekly' can mean both--Look it up." (<--Do you like the link? It took me forever to figure out how to do that. Precious time I could have spent solving crosswords.)

Here's an exclusive inside look at a typical day at WCS Mattone Sports Performance:

I usually pull into the parking lot between 1:25 and 1:35 and start grumbling to myself because a giant mountain of ice and snow has been hogging my favorite parking spot (the one that requires the least amount of aerobic expenditure to reach the gym) since November. After parking next to Mt Kilimanjaro and hiking the extra five feet to the door, I wave hello to the former FBI agent (who has chosen the blog code name "Rambo" and will henceforth be referred to as such) and dump my bag and coat on the platform. Rambo is usually always wearing Adidas pants, a long-sleeve shirt that has something to do with weightlifting, and a black USA vest. He prefers his Adidas sandals with socks but grudgingly breaks out the boots if it's snowed the night before. He's also recently begun showing great affection for a very awful jacket with shorn sleeves which, if he reads this, I sincerely hope he discards immediately.

After greeting Rambo, I meander into Gichael Mattone's office, where he is frequently on the telephone, deep in a conversation that always seems very important, even if he's just ordering Chinese. (Note: he's probably never actually ordered Chinese from the gym. Lunch is always some weird pasta mixture eaten out of Tupperware.) Gichael usually acknowledges me with a nod of his head or a half-hearted quiver in his right pinkie that I always assume is his version of an enthusiastic salutation. I check my weight and, depending on the number, decide whether to report it to Gichael. Then I retrieve the black binder that holds my workouts and try to escape the office before Gichael can subject me to one of his "jokes" that only he finds hilarious.

Before I can even touch a bar, Benito Gichael has me do various "warm-up" exercises whose sole purpose, I'm sure, is to make me look ridiculous. Then I put on my shoes, tape my thumbs, complain to Rambo about how cold it is, and pull out the Wall Street Journal I'd stolen from another dorm at lunchtime. Then I lift stuff for a while. After my workout is another round of joyous remedial exercises, followed by ten excrutiating minutes of Gichael Mattone's stretching. At this point I try to sneak out the door while Gichael is busy making his third gallon of coffee and/or green tea for the day, but he usually catches me (those sneaky Sicilians) and forces some brown "protein" sludge down my throat. The timing of my departure is crucial because my favorite radio station has a Beatles Break at 4:35.

The best of luck to everyone going to Nationals this weekend.
Also: The best of rehab to Steven Jarvis.
Also: Nominate Gichael Mattone for assistant coach for Jr Worlds.
Also: Congratulations to my IM basketball team, which finished the regular season 0-5 and still made it to the play-offs.

Winsomely yours,
Natalie

Awesome Feminist Rant of the Week:
"'I have been looking at the marriage service in the Prayer-book, and it seems to me very humiliating that a giver-away should be required at all. According to the ceremony as there printed, my bridegroom chooses me of his own will and pleasure, but I don't choose him. Somebody gives me to him, like a she-ass or she-goat, or any other domestic animal. Bless your exalted views of woman, O Churchman!'"
(Sue Bridehead, Thomas Hardy's Jude the Obscure)