Recently in The blahs Category

Well, the weekend came and went and I was somehow able to circle my way around whatever it was that was bothering me last Wednesday. This H1N1 flu scare has everyone I know walking on eggshells, and while I don't tend to panic about these sorts of things, you never know. . . . It seems as though two days of working at home and a decent night's sleep did the trick.

 

I even managed to do a little work on the house on Saturday (got the storm windows on in plenty of time for our current warming trend . . . geez!) And, then on Sunday, I dragged my tennis buddy, M.E., away from his household duties and we managed to get in a set of tennis before the Vikings game.

 

The tennis was forgettable. I played putridly, he played slightly less putridly, and the result was 6-4 in his favor. I noted afterward that he had called it an "exhibition match" prior to us warming up (he was concerned about his stiff shoulder), but he'd conveniently forgotten that point after he hit one of the few good shots of the day -- cross-court winner at set point. Whatever.

 

Besides, it was a beautiful day. I wasn't sneezing and blowing my nose. My fever was long gone. What's to complain about?

 

We retired to his living room for three hours of watching large men collide with one another before I headed home. There, My Lovely Wife reminded me that we still needed to get to the co-op if we wanted to eat, so I climbed on my Schwinn and pedaled the 6 miles along the river to the store. The bike path was packed with happy Minnesotans enjoying the balmy weather after a week of brutal early-winter temperatures, so I settled into a nice rhythm and marveled at the fall colors on the bluffs overlooking the Mississippi.

 

Home again with the goods, we put together a meal that miraculously coincided with my son's emergence from his room and my daughter's return from work. And while it wasn't exactly a Norman Rockwell moment (he wolfed down his meal while describing some horror movie he'd been watching; she grabbed a plate and escaped to her basement bedroom), MLW and I enjoyed a fine repast among the cacophony.

And why not? For the moment, at least, everyone was healthy. What's not to like about that?

 

One of the buffer guys at the gym on Monday was wearing a very tight T-shirt with this message: "An awkward morning is better than a boring night."  I've had a few awkward mornings since I last posted -- though not for the reasons his T-shirt is implying. I spent last week with My Lovely Wife and the kids (Nora, 20; Martin 17) up north at the family cabin (Woman Lake, Longville, Cass County, Minnesota) fully intending to jog the mile to the lodge at daybreak each morning to fetch the newspaper (and donuts?) and then maybe walk/jog on the way back before doing some stretching/meditation/pushups on the deck overlooking the lake.

The first morning, My Lovely Wife and I did, indeed, rise at a reasonable hour, pulled on our sneakers, hitched up the dog and set out for the lodge. After a few minutes of walking, we broke into a jog that lasted about a minute. Hmmm. We walked awhile more. Jogged about 30 seconds. Hmmmm.

Did I mention that the lodge sells real tasty donuts?

I should point out in our defense a few mitigating circumstances: 1) The cabin's water heater was not in a functioning mode for the first two days of our stay, and My Lovely Wife prefers (no, strongly prefers) to end her run each morning with a refreshing warm shower. 2) She's accustomed to running alone (with the dog) and at a pace that favors her bum knee; I run a little faster, at a pace that favors my bum knee. 3) We were on vacation, for Godsakes!

Away from our familiar surroundings and freed from our daily routine of dog-walking, bike-riding and gym-going, we found ourselves slogging through awkwardly guilt-ridden mornings lounging with the newspaper (which, after that first day, we simply retrieved with the Crapmobile) and nibbling on the aforementioned donuts.

We did swim nearly every day, which for me is about as challenging a workout as I know (I tend to sink like a stone), and I did on a couple of occasions manage to crank out a  set of "Dr. Oz" pushups -- which are fast becoming my favorite basic exercise.

But mostly I sat on the beach, reading (Points of My Compass, by E.B. White; Messages From My Father, by Calvin Trillin) and enjoying the sun, sand and surf. We didn't even take the canoe out of the boathouse. At various moments during the week, I thought wistfully about the gym and the workouts I was missing, but it was never enough to get me to pull on my sneakers again.

Martin and I did play mini-golf. Twice. Didn't really work up a sweat, though.

Anyway, it felt good to be back in the old routine again on Monday. I weighed myself before the workout and was pleased to learn I was carrying around about the same load I'd been toting before all those donuts (162.5). I took it easy on the cardio side of things, opting for 20 minutes or so on the Elliptical Danger Machine (no heavy-duty interval stuff yet) before diving into a fairly ambitious 30-minute  lifting session that got my heart rate up and reminded me once again how much I enjoy this stuff.

I haven't had a donut all week.

I trekked through the beginnings of a classic March blizzard yesterday morning, workout gear in my backpack, fully intending to hit the gym after work. Really I did. Then, about 3 p.m., my lovely wife called me on my cell to notify me that the Crapmobile (my 17-year-old son's not-so-affectionate moniker for our '91 Honda) had bit the dust in the parking ramp next door.

She was on her way to an appointment with a Life Time Fitness personal trainer downstairs, but clearly that was not going to happen, since she had to call a tow truck now and it would be an hour, at least, before salvation would arrive, and because the Crapmobile's disabled ball joints had actually led to the wheel bearings falling from wherever wheel bearings are supposed to be and the front axle collapsing there on the upward slope of the ramp, she would be standing there directing traffic around our little blue wonder for the forseeable future.

I dutifully notified the aforementioned P.T. that my wife would like to reschedule her appointment during a time when she wasn't directing traffic in a parking ramp. Then I headed next door to survey the damage and lend moral support.

Our poor little car was indeed immobilized (though a couple of fairly muscular trainers showed up later with the idea of pushing it into a less inconvenient position until they noticed that it wasn't going anyplace unless they picked it up and that picking it up would be a problem, since it was a car . . .), and my poor wife was thus destined to resolutely await the arrival of the tow truck.

Did I mention that we were having our annual late-March blizzard? Well, by the time the tow truck had hooked up our crippled little vehicle and headed off to the auto hospital, there were about 6 inches of slushy snow on the ground and a rip-roaring northwest wind propelling it through the air in a particularly unpleasant manner.

Was I going to let my lovely wife traverse the storm on her way home all by herself? I don't think that's what a guy like me does, do you? No sir. So, we tromped our way through the tempest toward the river, picked up a bottle of wine at the liquor store, caught the first bus we saw, transferred to the train heading south, and walked the last four blocks home, where we had a nice spaghetti dinner with the kids (none of whom seemed surprised that the Crapmobile had broken its leg), after which I watched the Twins game. So, that's why I didn't go to the gym last night.

Talk about failure (see previous post). Five times this week I have schlepped my workout gear across the icy Mississippi to the office and four times I have schlepped it back home with me, unused. As I've previously mentioned, reality intervenes: domestic responsibilities, work deadlines, the list goes on. At least I've been able to get in a good long walk every day (though March in Minnesota is the cruelest month of the year -- 20 degrees one day, below zero the next). And, as the Mayo Clinic points out, 30 minutes of walking each day is enough to boost my immune system, clean out my arteries, and increase my stamina. What more could a geezer want?

Well, resistance training, if you must know -- which has its own rewards. So, the good news is that tonight the planets somehow have aligned and I will head downstairs after work and do all that stuff I've been thinking about -- but not doing -- all week. It all makes me think maybe I should get up an hour earlier and haul my butt to the gym before work in order to get back on track. You know -- show a little discipline, get into a good rhythm, really commit to this stuff. Ha. Ha. Ha.

A nasty cold/flu bug has put me off my game this past week, plus it's been too cold for my normal walking commute, so I'm beginning to feel a little out of sorts, fitness-wise. It's fascinating to see how easily I can develop inertia, how the gym gradually loses its familiar tug after work. I'm not really backsliding, I tell myself, because I shouldn't go work out when I'm sneezing and coughing all over the equipment. Nor should I tax my system too much when I'm not getting enough sleep at night.

The pessimist in me, however, can see myself sliding into fitness neverland unless I pull myself up off the floor and get back to my routine. I did finally walk to work this morning after several sub-zero days off, and that did get my heart pumping a bit. But, I thought it was instructive that I forgot my workout gear.

Kelly James-Enger, writing in EL's July/August 2005 issue shows some sympathy for folks like myself, who find themselves a little stymied and stuck. "No matter how motivated you are, you'll still skid into obstacles from time to time," she writes. "Plan now for how you'll deal with conflicts in your routine, like business trips, sick kids or the American Idol finale. Aside from time constraints, some of the most pervasive problems are boredom and frustration."

Her prescription is simple: Shake up your routine -- lift more with fewer reps, jump on a new piece of equipment, set new goals (do I even have any goals?), etc. It's good advice, and now that my nose has stopped running, I think maybe it's time for the rest of me to do the same.