Respect The Kettlebell

I had some liqor at supper and, one hour later,
felt like to exercise and went for the kettlebells.                                                                                                 
                                                                                                             
For two years I have been spoiled by the cannon                                                              
ball with a handle. They are compact and                                                                     
convenient and I can exercise in my bedroom and                                                              
almost anytime I want. No driving to the gym, no                                                             
fees, and no gears. After the first year, I have                                                             
been able to stay away from rookie mistakes and my
training has become very safe. The bells weigh 
8kgs apart. Every size-jump has been the same                                                                
story: from unthinkable to tempting and from
possible to reality, through work.
                                                                                                             
One bell at a time, they have been so patient. The 
16kg took about 8 months and the 24kg took 14. I
arrived at the 32kg in mid March. No need to rush
or fret because being able to train is itself such                                                           
a blessing. Painful experiences, e.g., shoulder                                                              
pains, foot pains, etc., send valuable messages
(think of diagnosis from a doctor or physical
therapist) and keep me focused all the time. The 
tool is magical: it constantly challenges me with                                                            
something barely within my reach and allows me to                                                            
discover myself.
        
I felt the alcohol in my veins and my heart pumped                                                           
like crazy after each set of moves. During the 
second Turkish Getup, my left arm wobbled                                                                     
dangerously holding the weight overhead. This                                                                
hadn't happened for a long time and, lying down, I                                                           
almost droppped the bell. The warning from the
book crossed my mind: "Respect Your Kettlebell."                                                             
                                                                                                             
I pushed through the rest of the GetUps unscathed.                                                                  
I just learnt how the liqor affected my stability,                                                          
quantitatively. I gave thanks and decided never to                                                                
drink and train again.