Handstand: Ah Valentine's Day. Glorious day of love and pink and flowers and candy and overpriced food and love and romance and love. I am not going to tell you a story of love, but I will tell you a story that may prevent it.
It was the Friday before Valentine's Day and *[Pete] had come over after work. I had worked a 12 hour shift that day and was a little frayed around the edges. Background on Pete...he is quite easy on the eyes, not that that is pertinent to this story, but I thought you should know as you picture this story in your mind. Right, back to the story. Pete coaches, breathes, and does CrossFit 5 times a week, and he is quite good. So, quick recap, I'm exhausted and Pete is a real version of Captain America.
"Hey why don't you try a handstand push up"
I say okay because years ago when I worked out 5 times a week, this may not have posed a problem. However lately, I eat cookies for breakfast. Do you see my dilemma? Next thing I know, with hands on the floor, I am launching my exhausted legs up in the air as hard as I can, praying that by some miracle I will land in a perfect handstand against the wall. I am hoping for this, but let's face it, the actual image in my mind was one where my giant foot slams through the dry-wall and or my wrist snaps under the weight of my body. What happened was potentially worse.
Trying my very hardest to get my legs vertical, I keep going. I was determined I was going to stick this, and Pete was going to be real impressed, and basically fall in love with me on the spot. I digress..... I almost get the handstand twice, but now getting just a bit light headed from all blood rushing to my head. Don't worry I don't pass out, that would have been a blessing. Instead, I continue feeling like the fat kid in the gymnastics class who can't touch her toes. At this poing Pete decides to help me. He grabs my legs mid air and pushes them towards the wall...and I do it! Sadly, in the process of all the jumbling and flailing feet and gases churning as I move from standing to hand standing, and just as he is pushing my legs against the wall, just as his face is close to my rump, it happens! The gases release. (and I don't mean I burped. Other end people.) Just enough gas to make a little whistle! Mortified I crumble! I get up quickly, and look at Pete in horror. He says nothing. Phew I am safe! He must have terrible hearing. I at this point make up an excuse as to why I cannot continue. [note to self: make up excuse before trying next time]
The next day it comes out during our dinner conversation, it turns out he had heard. Turns out his hearing is damn near perfect. I'll never sneak a gas release again! What can I say, the epitome of grace and beauty at all times. #winning.
* for the protection of the male in this story, his name has not been changed. His real name is Pete.