I have selfish reasons for learning Spanish. Some of the food we like to eat in Hillsboro is in places where they don’t really speak any English and I have a hard time reading their hand-written menus. I had something today, which looked like flat breaded steak (and tasted like it too) but I can’t remember what it was called besides “Especial de Hoy” which is the only part I understood. Man was it good, though. Beans, rice, tortillas, the meat, guacamole, and it was only $5 to stuff myself silly. I feel bad, though, that I’m going to their restaurant without knowing how to say, “Hello, how are you today? The weather’s getting cooler, isn’t it? Which would you suggest the or the ? Thank you, I’ll have the one you suggest.” As it is, she pointed at a picture and I thought I was getting fried fish.

That’s the way it goes at Ochoa Super Tacos for me. I point at something, ask what it is, they look at me with a confused look, I look at them with a confused look, and order it anyway.

I’m about to fall apart, I think. My little finger feels like I jammed it, my right hip flexor feels like it’s cramping, and they’re still making me do crazy things at the gym. Run around the building, 20x 20lb ball slams, and 20 jumping squats. I felt like I was sandbagging it a bit but I did get some consistent times and came within a second of a guy who can seriously outrun me. Still, my ass feels sore from the front squats (I should say “glutes” so people don’t get ideas, but it’s my ass) my shoulders are tired from a kettlebell press, and I think I mentioned my various cramps. No wonder my massage guy wants me to take up yoga or pilates instead.