Sunday’s dare comes as two fragments. You can do them together, or the first fragment in the morning and the second at night.

Fragment 1:

7 times:
7 dumbbell thrusters
7 renegade rows (push-up gripping your dumbbells, left arm row, right arm row, repeat)
7 V-ups or sit-ups

Fragment 2:

max hold inversion (handstand or otherwise)
45 squats
max hold inversion

The day’s poem is also two fragments, from Claudia Rankine‘s Citizen, An American Lyric (2014). If you buy one book this season, this is the one.

Fragment 1:

You take in things you don’t want all the time. The second you hear or see some ordinary moment, all its intended targets, all the meanings behind the retreating seconds, as far as you are able to see, come into focus. Hold up, did you just hear, did you just see, did you just do that? Then the voice in your head silently tells you to take your foot off your throat because just getting along shouldn’t be an ambition.

Fragment 2:

A friend writes of the numbing effects of humming and it returns you to your own sigh. It’s no londer audible. You’ve grown into it. Some all it aging – an internalized liquid smoke blurring ordinary ache.

Just this morning another, What did he say?

Come on, get back in the car. Your partner wants to face off with a mouth and who knows what handheld objects the other vehicle carries.

Trayvon Martin’s name sounds from teh car radio a dozen times each half hour. You pull your love back into the seat because though no one seems to be cahsing you, the justice system has other plans.

Yes, and this is how you are a citizen: Come on. Let it go. Move on.