Back in the Ring

Today I have to resort to drawings. Brain smashed to pieces, arms limb. General happy and stupid feeling. That's how I like it.
The Ring is different. Different from Schwarzweiss Boxzentrum, that is. There are many more trainers, and someone is always after you when you work out. There are classes three times a week, which is nothing but an expensive fetish club really. I'm paying $129 a month for a monster of a man to yell at me, force me to crawl on the floor, squat for forever and suffer insufferable pain.
I can't possibly describe every way of torture I had to endure. One stuck in mind, though. We lined up and watched the trainer, eyes wide with shock and horror, perform the routine we were about to mimic. He put himself into a pushup position, raised one arm one leg, and lounged forward, while going down into a pushup in this awkward twisted state. Then he lounged again, thrusting his other arm and leg forth. It was very impressive. He looked like a young Jackie Chan trying out one of his tricks. We were to do two rounds around the whole gym this way. Ha.

When we embarked on our epic journey around the gym, it looked, for some reason, different. I kept thinking of the Mystics in the Dark Crystal, how they moved slowly and in agony when they had to journey to re-unite with the Skeksis. Each time a Skeksi died, a Mystic would up and die, too. Poof! I sure felt like one, certainly one of those nearing death. My paws were in my way, butt too huge to hover above the ground for long. It's a good thing nobody I know saw me, although the doorman, who I call Ted, because he looks just like Ted the doorman from the Institute in Vienna, said that I did well and looked best in that 'flopping mess'.

I also have a confession to make. The Ring is an American boxing club. Men there are civilized, polite, PC, do not stare at you and ask "you..will you party with me?" suggestively. I miss the crazy Serbians, Albanians, Chechnyans. I miss (some of) the attention, smirks, winks, and smacks. I miss Magda and I bitching about the "White Sweater" and how he won't go away from his staring stool at the bar. Or teasing Gogi and Elephant Boy mercilessly. It is ridiculous, silly, vain, but it is so. What would happen to an American male if he let go every now and then? I would not sue, I swear!