The frog croaked

Tuesday I did 12x400s which went better than last time. Most were around 1:50 with the first and last the best, down around 1:45. I believe I have developed some stamina that should make Chicago seem like nothing worse than a day at the dentist.

While stretching after my intervals yesterday I managed to wrench my back, which hurt until this afternoon. I conveniently had a date with my new girl, Julie, who gave me 90 minutes of purposeful massage. It was delightful. Though, I have to say, a "routine" massage isn't nearly as dramatic a sensation as that one in a blue moon massage that reveals all the crinks and creaks you thought you had but weren't sure 'til it was artfully revealed on the table.

Last night was a tough one for sleeping. After all the tropical storm rains we've had, the critters have been restless. In our case the critters are Cuban tree frogs that come around at night and sit on the lip of our pool - right outside our bedroom window - and start ribbiting up a storm. Needless to say, sleep is not a simple thing under such circumstances. Fortunately for me, I can sleep through most of it unless I am otherwise awakened; as usually happens when Mrs. T is disturbed, which usually results in everyone knowing she is disturbed.

If proper preparations are made the croaking will cease after a little good night hunting. Mrs. T keeps a baggy in the bedroom and if those noisy toe suckers start clucking she goes out there with a flashlight and catches them in her bag, twists the bag up into a knot and, without ceremony, deposits them in the freezer. That not only shuts them up but it is said to painlessly prevent them from ever ribbitting again. Ah, life in the Florida wilderness. It takes a hunter's heart to live down here.