So here's the thing.
My wife Lelia has been going for this Original Bootcamp series where a bunch of people sign up to undergo some twice-a-week high intensity physical training for three months at KLCC. It has been going on for almost two months plus now, where she trains on Tuesday and Thursday for an hour each in the evening every week.
I fully support this activity.
For the fact that we both live separately at the moment due to work commitment, it is very possible for me to say that I have began to notice some very significant physical change on her each time we met.
Before that, I believe it is necessary to tell you that Lelia was once a state hockey player during her younger days and she runs a lot. She is really into physical training and all these healthy habits, from which I suffered from every now and then, especially when she pulled me along when she needs to undergo her training or forced me to eat some punched out vegetable and fruit extracts that taste like moss juice. I did not physically suffer to begin with, but the pain was more on my pride. Seeing my wife running 5km made me feel as if I was the couch potato. So naturally, in order to preserve my male dominance and supremacy, I would run much further than that. You see, a man's hurt pride makes him do unbelievable things, that in the end will take toll back on him. In my case, I would normally lose a leg, lose my vision, or be visited by the death angel after I complete my run. But of course this doesn't stop me from competing with my athlete wife, albeit the fact that I am no longer the sportsman I once was. Long story short, my wife's physical ability hurts my pride and in order to avenge my pride I will end up hurting myself physically. Altogether it's a pretty messed up story.
But that's not the essence of this writing.
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Here's the thing. Ever since Lelia has been attending the bootcamp, well it's easy to spot that she has put off a few pounds while gaining some pretty toned up muscles here and there. I could actually see the bumps on her muscular arms. But what is more unnerving is her leg.
Lelia is an avid runner, so it's pretty expected that her legs would be all big and muscular, and they are. You see, a runner's legs are really toned up and in such a way, beautiful. They are solid, strong, springy, all those. They are just perfect. And now with this bootcamp thing, her Kayla movement thing, those squats and all other moves to curve up the perfect ass, it is much anticipated that the end result would be exciting to see.
Recently I compared my thighs with those of Lelia's and to my own amusement they were bigger than mine, but not at all in a bad way. They were not only bigger but more muscular looking than mine. Imagine the hind legs of a fit and strong horse. Yes, that kind of legs.
So it occurred to me that, God damn, if one of these legs kick me, intentionally or otherwise, it would send me right to kingdom come and back. It could turn me into a bowl of mashed potato in just three kicks. Or maybe it could kick me back into the future; a kick so hard, it ruptures the very fabric of space and time, hence acting as the only working time machine, thus promising a prominent expansion in the future of quantum physics. It could even kick an infant elephant right into adulthood. It could be used to maintain peace, or unleash a long episode of terror. It could start and end a war. Well exaggerated, I know, but you get the picture.
So from that moment on, I try hard not to cause trouble at home, or if I somewhat did, I try hard to stay out of the kicking distance from my wife. Not that she's going to kick me or anything, but the thought of it was frightening enough. Just overnight, I saw myself winning the Most Patient and Forgiving Husband award.
But it's not her intentional kicking that scares me the most - it's the unintentional one. There was one time she (I thoroughly assumed) dreamt of swatting a fly and I got slapped so hard, my soul came out half way on the other end. Also it is worth to mention that one time she (again, I assumed) got into a boxing ring and punched me right below the diaphragm before resorting into a deep, snoring sleep later on, while I cried at the edge of the bed from the devastating pain. But despite all these unconscious bullying, I still like her though.
Oh the fear, that one day when we are both asleep in the bed facing each other, and Lelia dreams of taking a game-changing and ultimately winning penalty in the game of soccer (she is now growing interests in the sport) and this gets translated into an actual physical movement. Oh, the fear!
Maybe it's time I put on a hard shell turtle suit and curl in it the next time I am in bed with her. Anyone's selling?
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Hey baby, sorry for opening up on your sleeping behaviour. I love you, please don't kick me.