Also, when I was in the weight room today, I noticed that I was the only person in there without that y chromosome. I wasn't self-conscious or anything to be in there, but as there were some definite creepers lurking around the decline bench, I was incredibly self-aware. I don't want to attract any molestaches in the weight room. Not my thing. These photogs, however, are magnificent:
I haven't missed being drenched in sweat post-workout. Something about a loose, long-sleeved T-shirt clinging to my triceps is rather unappealing. And peeling my drenched elbow sleeve off of my elbow isn't the bee's knees. The stank is also something I haven't missed. Not me, I never stink; but, somehow, I manage to get a whiff of the football players in Fuhrer at the same time as the track team. I don't understand how that happens. Oh yeah, I do. I can't wait for them to leave the field house.
I have, however, missed my javelin shoes from circa 1987. They're so sick. Orange, purple and white- does it get much cooler? If so, I haven't seen it anywhere, and you should point me in that direction. I've also missed my teammates. Not the distance runners, or sprinters, or jumpers, or vaulters, or hurdlers, or multieventers, but the throwers (JKJKJK). Yes, them. I love the throwers. They make me feel better about how I can't run a 200 without passing out. And they're hilarious. I kinda miss being a "real" thrower.