So today at the gym we did more count-y exercises. Not geographical county, but exercises where you do a bunch of stuff and you have to count how many you do. You’re not supposed to be competitive about it all, but if I wasn’t a little competitive then I wouldn’t be going to the gym, I’d be at home watching FoodTV (it’s Monday after all).

Or maybe Chuck. There’s this blonde woman at the gym who I can pretend is Sarah because the TV show is only going to work if the two never actually get together so the metaphor works, somehow, at least in my twisty-turny thoughts. I’m only like Chuck in that I’m probably heading for a job fixing computers at some big electronics store, not in the spy part.

But back to the count-y thing, we did 12 minutes of:

• 5 Burpees
• 10 kettlebell snatches (5 per arm)
• 15 mountain climbers
• 20 2-handed kettlebell swing

and counted the number of rounds we got. I almost did six rounds but time was called when I was at 19 kettlebell swings. Since I’ve taken almost all the science and engineering classes a person can take as an undergraduate, I know about counting. You have to set the rules and stick by them or counting is arbitrary and capricious. Whole numbers are a good thing and they’re even better for people like most gym rats who probably wouldn’t know a fraction if it hit them in the head. So I know I only did five rounds. Still, I feel like the ref cheated me somehow. I blame society.

Anyway, I should get on with my evening and start with my counting of sheep. Or maybe just thinking of beautiful women in sundresses with bushels of peaches, a thought triggered by the song Peaches by The Presidents of the USA that is stuck in my head. OK, so maybe I’ll watch some music videos on YouTube and then start counting sheep. Maybe some Duran Duran…