“Two arms, gulls!” U. bellows enthusiastically as we enter.
She is enthusiastic because she knows we hate “two arms.” In U.’s classes, “two arms” means everything will be slow and long and killing. Not hard on the brain, but so grindingly hard on everything else.
And so it was on Tuesday and Saturday, and probably will be tonight. My calf muscles feel like they are clamped to chains pulling a pair of 8½-ton trucks. Ehn!