The Zone

Between our self-imposed limitations and the actual edge is where ALL our successes occur…

…everything else is mere survival.

A barbell taught me this…but it applies to absolutely everything.

For some reason this was a revelation to me.

I’ll see you on the road.

CUAgain,
Daniel Meyer

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100%…what does that even mean?

So…about 7 months ago (end of September 2018) I got my left arm out of the sling from the shoulder surgery (done in August 2018), and started PT…my right arm was also recovering from shoulder surgery done in January 2018.

At that point, I couldn’t lay on my back (bench press position) and raise my left arm without assistance. Literally, the PT gal had to “pull my finger” LOL!

My right arm was nearly as bad, I could raise it by that time with just the arm weight, but even a 1-pound weight (a cute little dumbbell!) overwhelmed it after just a rep or two. It was all I could do to lay there with my hand in the air making little circles.

Fast forward just a bit:

I’ve been working the shoulders practically every day, often multiple times a day, for months. Once cleared from physical therapy (not DONE mind you, but “functional” gets your insurance to kick ya out) I started working again with my trainer (Travis Merritt at Rowlett Transformation Center) for my overall fitness and specific, deliberate work on the shoulders.

And I still work them nearly every day on my own. How much and when is determined by how close I’ve approached the threshold between “good” pain and “bad” pain.

I’ve learned the difference. It’s not subtle.

I’ve said it before…most of this fitness thing is a mind-game. Rehab, even more-so.

I’ve stared down the damn Smith machine more than once while wondering just what the fuck I was doing all this for (the Smith Machine cable setup is ideal for certain shoulder rehab work).

I stare. And wonder. And curse. And then I do the work anyway.

Eventually a pattern emerges. It’s not the pain or near-constant soreness…it’s the mind contemplating the lack of apparent progress.

Day to day I there is no improvement evident. Even week to week the changes are subtle.

And it takes focus and drive to summon the effort to deliberately inflict a calculated amount of pain, with no immediate benefit to be seen.

But still I persist. Still I MAKE the time. Still I pay the price. And every once and a while, the returns jump out at me.

So, those mere months ago when I couldn’t “press” my own arm weight?

Today, I bench-pressed 110 pounds. Not a lot for some of you folks…but amazing progress for me. Seems just a few weeks ago I couldn’t do just a barbell.

My shoulder surgeon, when discussing my potential to recover from the “catastrophic” and chronic injuries, had indicated that with persistence and hard work I may recover as much as 95% range of motion and perhaps 85% strength. I promised myself 100% of both.

I’ve achieved that on range of motion…but what about strength? Could I make it “back” to 100%?

I got a laugh out of that today. 100%…of what…exactly? I was nowhere near my potential before the injuries.

And even though it’s subtle, daily I gain in strength and control.

So what is 100%?

That’s where I stop, THAT’S what 100% means.

…and I’m not stopping.

I’ll see you on the road.

CUAgain,
Daniel Meyer

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Life in the Moments and Vistas

Early morning doctor’s visit, which of course means fasting. I never know whether, when, or how much blood they’re gonna want. My current theory is the vampire community was tired of the bad press earned by biting random folks on the neck for a meal (generally considered rude if uninvited) and instead have bought up all the lab groups/franchises as a much more reliable source…not only do they get the blood, but they *get paid for getting the blood*. But that of course…is another story.

So. Fasting. That means I’ve got to find some breakfast between the early morning appointment and when I get to work…at least, if the goal for the day is “don’t eviscerate anybody with a grapefruit spoon”. Breakfast is REQUIRED. And coffee…but if you didn’t know about me and coffee you’ve not been paying sufficient attention.

Thing is, the Dallas area is growing…massively. There’s more than 12 million people within 50 miles of me. 150,000 MORE people a year are moving in, and the result is areas are either slum or trendy, both if they’re transitioning, and near the vampires’…ur…doc’s headquarters and/or my downtown Dallas workplace even MORE so. With the time available before work this means my choices boil down to “shank central” or for days like today where I’m not in the mood to plop a side-arm on the table so I can finish my meal without a knife between the ribs, I end up instead at “Ridiculously Pretentious Breakfast Place”.

Note: If I ever start a food/beverage/bar business I’ll probably name it some sort of variation of the above. “Absolutely Ridiculously Pretentious something something”. Yeah, I know the ridiculously pretentious folks have zero sense of humor or irony…but they also wouldn’t recognize it as either.

“Hey, we need breakfast, where should we eat?”
“Someplace ridiculously pretentious.”
“Well I hear the coffee’s NINE bucks at that new place!”
“Sounds good!”

The bright side of pretentious, however, is that it’s slightly easier to get something healthy at this sort of place…assuming you avoid the FOUR pages of various kinds of pancakes, plus the FIVE “pancake of the day” offerings.

You also need to be able to “translate” the menu, but long years on the road have made me pretty adept at that sort of thing. “Pretentious”, it turns out, is just a highly modified dialect of “Yuppie”, which some of you older folks may be familiar with.

I ordered, squinting at the menu and hoping my credit limit would cover it. Today I elected for an “impossibly pretentious egg-white omelette” with a side of “amazingly overpriced fruit”.

Of course, on the menu it was something like, “Cage-free organic-certified-hand-harvested egg white virgin frittata, with a sustainable harvested organic arugula, vine sourced pomme d’amour, hand chosen asparagus, carefully sliced agaricus bisporus, and courgette salad.” The side was “organically chosen sustainable lovingly non-mechanically sourced berries” or something like that.

Literal translation: “egg-white veggie omelette with fruit on the side”.

me: “And a large coffee in a to-go cup.”
her: “We don’t have a large. I can get you a Grande Deluxe Excesse…” That last word was pronounced with a breathless flair that I’d expect to hear from a high-end call girl offering a blow-job. She also thrust her chest forward in an effort to get the right breathy-ness. The resulting motions were intentional and downright mind-boggling.
me: *blinks, carefully keeping my thoughts to myself* “Uh. Yeah. That.”

Which hints at the point of this post: Moments and Vistas.

See, the scenery today, required in this sort of neighborhood and strongly enhanced by this morning’s tropical, balmy, breezy weather, is distinct and notable.

Predominant are impossibly long legs, tan thighs, snug micro skirts, way-too-tight sleeveless low cut tops, and high-heeled boots. It’s the default for the gals here today. They are at least 75% of the content of the restaurant patrons.

Despite the initial sticker shock the breakfast isn’t all that expensive when I factor in the view I’m getting with no requirement or expectation to shove $5 bills in g-strings. I expect that would be downright rude too, but I can never be sure of these things.

Oh, and those tall “breakfast counter” bar-stools provide an amazing enhancement to the view.

God bless Texas!

Oh, and since most of the “not-hot-chick” patrons (“tab a, not slot b” type) were soft-ish boy-men, my black jeans, dark shirt, and leather vest attracted more than passing attention from several of the “non-tabbed” variety of patron. Despite the early morning, they’re hunting, but it seems they don’t like the predominant prey found in these pretentious locales.

One asks where I’m headed. A thin veil, rendered downright transparent by the expression on her face. I glance at the parking lot and snort.

I’d pay real money to see one of those skirts mounting a motorcycle. I expect it’s pretty much NOT possible without running up against a half-dozen obscenity laws and perhaps starting a couple new religions, but I’m highly in favor nonetheless.

I am politely noncommittal. The cute little short gal that shares my life with me is more than enough.

That view though…it’s the stuff life is made of and if the day comes I *don’t* notice such things I’d be classed as clinically deceased, or perhaps will have joined the ranks of the pretentious boy-men, which is a worse fate methinks. I doubt I could ever utter the phrase, “Grande Deluxe Excesse” with the proper cadence anyway.

But I am what I am. I suppose they are too.

I’ll see you on the road.

CUAgain,
Daniel Meyer

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Attractive repellent.

A pre-dawn run…*north*…to throw some food, water, and forage at some critters. My task while a friend is medically indisposed. There’s no room in the schedule for it. I fit it in anyway.

Some horses, a couple donkeys, a couple mini’s…and a sheep named “Scooter” that thinks he’s a horse. Entertaining…that one.

Retrieve all the food troughs. The horses have apparently been holding a soccer tournament and the troughs are scattered over an acre or so. Line ’em up. Pet the donkey. Toss some food. Check the water systems. Hay for the littles. Evaluate what’s left of the pasturage (we’re having a hay shortage). Check the fences.

I sure mess around with livestock an awful lot for a man that doesn’t have…or want…any livestock.

I finish about the time the sun comes up.

On my (now three times as long) commute into the heart of the metro-mess, I decide the small apple and single cup of coffee I’ve had this morning do not a breakfast make…and carefully peek at the clock.

Hmmmm. Traffic’s been nice this morning. Miles to go. Divide by pi. Carry the 2.

Yeah, a stop for breakfast will fit in the schedule. Well, not really. But I’ll make it work.

I’m just into my second cup of coffee when the waitress deposits my omelette on the table.

“I *really* like your cologne. What is it?”

I raise an eyebrow at her…ponder a bit. I usually splash just a bit of Aquavelva Ice Blue on after shaving…yanno…irritations and all that…but I didn’t shave this morning. No time.

And then I realize.

“Ah. I’m wearing D.W.O.. It’s an SC Johnson label. It’s not cheap but it works.”

“Thanks!”

Y’all know what chiggers are? It’s close to time for them, and I take no chances, being particularly susceptible. They are, to me, irrefutable proof that we were born in hell and have to work our way out…but that’s subject for another post.

I wonder if they should change the label. “Spray on socks. Repels chiggers. Attracts Cougars.”

One omelette and half a dozen cups of coffee later I’m on my way again.

Gonna be a long day.

I’ll see you on the road.

CUAgain,
Daniel Meyer

Posted in Blog, Ramblings | 1 Comment

What the when now?

Not Morning Person

Many of y’all that have been following my attempted physical transformation are familiar with me using the term “0-stupid-30” as this is normally the time I end up working out.

“0-stupid-30” is a somewhat relative term that generally indicates a time of early morning where normal, reputable folks are not found. It’s somewhat after the drunks have made it home (or crashed) and somewhat before the tradesmen are out loading up their tools and materials, and fueling their trucks.

Friday, due to other considerations and some scheduled appointments, my workout had to be *earlier* than “0-stupid-30”.

Like an hour earlier.

I was toying with what to call this piece of the night that so few ever see…possibly “0-stupid-30-minus-1” but that seemed a bit awkward.

The wife unknowingly settled the debate. I may have mentioned she’s NOT a morning person…and I woke her with a kiss on my way out the door.

“What time is it?” she moaned.

I told her.

“What. The. Hell.” says my sweet little demure southern girl that very seldom swears. She was asleep before she finished the statement. It was definitely NOT a question.

And so the term was coined.

“What-The-Hell-0-Clock” it is.

I’m pretty sure there’s a statement regarding my sanity in there somewhere.

Oh, and close to 2 hours later when I returned, I again woke her with a kiss.

She blinked, “You’re going to work out now? Have a good one!”

*plop* *snooooozzzzzeeee*

I’ll see you on the road.

CUAgain,
Daniel Meyer
You can read more about my fitness journey here.

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Reactions…

Newtons Cradle

Newton’s Third Law states, “For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.”

I’ve actually heard people use this to justify…or excuse…their actions or behavior in human interactions.

Come to think of it, many folks use Newton’s First Law (link) much in the same way…that is…to justify their actions, or as often, lack of them.

Thing is, Newton’s Laws are physical principles and apply to motion. While this might be uber-critical if you should happen to be playing billiards, launching a rocket, or crashing your car…they are totally and completely irrelevant when applied to human interactions.

Actions and reactions in human behavior are a choice, no more and no less.

The world is ever so much of a better place when we recognize this.

***

Exiting the outward opening door of the stairwell of my parking garage this morning I encountered a tall, professionally dressed black lady just approaching and reaching for the door handle.

Already out/through, I stepped aside and held the door for her.

She stopped within the swing of the door, looked me in the eye, and said, “Piss off.” The fact that she stopped where she did, and didn’t move on, told me she was looking for a confrontation.

I’ll admit my heart dropped a little…most folks are reasonably polite in daily interactions and it hurts a bit when for no apparent reason, they direct their bile squarely at you.

There are lots of ways I could respond to this, many, no doubt, less than polite and completely justifiable given the context.

What I did was leave the polite smile plastered on my face, cock my head slightly, and raise an eyebrow at her.

That’s the polite way to say, “WutDaFug?”

She stood there for a half-a-breath and then said coldly, “I don’t like men much today.”

Ah. One of THOSE days.

***

Let me be clear, THIS is NOT on me. Her reaction, perception, preconceived notion, or what have you about my maleness, whiteness, tallness, shortness, leather-wearing-ness, door-holding-ness or whatever “ness” she could conjure up is straight on her.

I’ve no control or responsibility, even in today’s hyper-sensitive and victim-culture world, for how others choose to interpret my actions or presence.

What I DO have control and responsibility for…and what IS 100% on me, is how I react to this sort of thing. I couldn’t think of anything I knew would make the situation better, but I sure understood a LOT of ways to make it worse.

Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. Push back. Bounce away. Force for force. Bile for bile.

Yeah. No. Humans are NOT billiard balls.

***

Had she walked on, the encounter would have been over, leaving me in a slightly worse mood but otherwise with no harm done. With her standing where she was though, the encounter was far from over and for me to end it, I’d have to let the door go and walk on. It would either hit her or force her to move.

Neither impressed me as palatable options.

What I did, was leave the polite smile in place, continue to hold the door, and say calmly, “I’ve no need for you to like me.”

She looked me in the eye for a couple more heartbeats, said, “Huh.” and walked on.

The end.

I can’t tell you what her issue was. I can’t even say that I made the world a better place. What I know is that I didn’t make it a worse one…and sometimes that just has to do.

Choices. Recognize ’em.

I’ll see you on the road.

CUAgain,
Daniel Meyer

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Goals. I have ’em.

Goals. I haz ’em.

Now that I can do more than grimace when I think about moving a shoulder…and I am free of the 4 months of “no work/sudden movements” (12 weeks of that in slings on one arm or the other) and YEAR of “light duty” restrictions, I am back to attacking my fitness hard.

Some of you may recall my overall goal was to lose 200 pounds (100 in this go-around).

I missed it a bit…I got to -188 before my shoulder surgeries and subsequent YEAR of restrictions/rehab. I also let my nutrition slip a bit and gained some back…so now I’m sitting at -167.

Time to restart things, and hard. The goal has changed a bit though.

I now have THREE that I intend to attack simultaneously.

So…On to ‘da Goals!

1) Shoulder strengthening/rehab: Deliberate, structured, persistent, and careful training to bring my shoulders back to and to surpass their strength before the surgeries. This is a high bar. The damage to my shoulders from a lifetime of hard work and dangerous things was frequently referred to as “catastrophic”.

Note that my fitness quest brought this to light…and meant I had to do something about it…but really didn’t cause the issue. More of a “Straw the broke the camel’s back a couple years before it would have broken anyway…plus the camel wasn’t working with a crap to begin with” sort of situation.

Bringing the shoulders back to full strength with structured work and proper form should vastly reduce the possibility of this sort of injury recurring (translation: I don’t want to do this crap again!).

The sobering reality of this challenge is that it’s going to require a continually increasing intensity of work, basically measured by my shoulders being sore to the very edge of my endurance…for a year. Staying motivated to do this…each and every day…is not going to be an easy thing.

2) Fat loss: Rather than target a specific weight, I am targeting a body-fat percentage. I’ve learned a lot along this journey, and one of those things is that “proper” weight (by the BMI standard) is NOT a good measure of health. Rather, body composition IS. The percentage of body fat and lean muscle mass are what health is about. Every study, measure, and metric shows the more lean muscle mass you have, particularly going into your senior years, the better off you will be in every category. This includes things like Alzheimers, cancers, heart disease, and pretty much every disease related cause of death. This is NOT a small factor…something like a 40% reduction in all-cause mortality is achieved for those with a healthy body fat percentage and high lean muscle mass.

“Healthy” body fat is essentially, 10-20%. 15% is considered “athletic”.

In my specific case, at my current body composition, I need to lose 43 pounds of fat to attain the “ideal” 15% number.

To illustrate why I heap scorn on the BMI standard and ANYBODY that preaches it is this: Given my current muscle mass, if I lost 43 pounds of fat and achieved the 15% number, I would STILL BE MORE THAN 40 POUNDS OVERWEIGHT based on the BMI.

I am NOT, by any measure, built on a “light duty” frame.

To put that another way, I’d have to lose 40 pounds of MUSCLE along with the 43 pounds of fat just to squeak into the very top of “allowed” on the BMI. (at 6 feet tall the MOST I can weigh according to this standard is 175 pounds, worse yet, my employer’s measurement rounds DOWN in inches and I apparently am an eighth of an inch under 6 feet and thus, by “science of BMI” am 5’11” and I should be under 170lbs!)

You will not find a health professional ANYWHERE that will tell you losing 40-45 pounds of muscle is in any way healthy for you.

Why the hell to they preach the BMI model then? Heh…that’s subject for another story, but I’ve yet to get an answer from any health professional on this.

But still, my goal is NOT a weight of “217 pounds” (current weight minus the 43 pounds of body fat I need to lose). And the reason for that leads us to goal #3.

3) Add lean muscle mass: I want to pile on as much lean muscle mass as I can during the process. The short AND long-term health benefits of this are immense and well documented. The nutrition can vary somewhat between the two goals, but the work is the same.

But wait…

“But wait!” says the astute reader, “Goals must be achievable! Goals require a PLAN! Goals require a deadline!”

Yes. Yes they do. Otherwise they’re just wishes…

So. Achievable and a plan are the same thing.

1) The head game. If you don’t get your head in the game…and make this quest non-negotiable…everything else is a moot point.

2) Recognize that there ARE. NO. SHORTCUTS. Yes, I know this. But yes, I slip and must remind myself of it continually.

3) Get some help/motivation if ya need it. I am back at my trainer for the coaching, knowledge, and intensity. Accountability and making sure the plan is reasonable come along with consulting a professional. I highly recommend this, and it’s the piece that’s missing from our health-care and insurance systems…but that’s subject for yet another post.

A deadline. Yep. Need one.

That’s a bit complicated though.

I think, on it’s own, I could hit 15% body fat in 6 months…perhaps 8 (it gets MUCH harder as you approach that number). I even contemplated putting a bet on that…there’s a company out there that will basically bet you on your weight loss (link). This could be highly motivating for some.

As an aside, it’s a pretty safe bet for the company. The success rates are dismal, simply because there is little support, education, and guidance as to the actual process to achieve lasting success. Folks would much rather blow money on some miracle cure, and the “industry” has responded well to that desire. Most sell the “concept” of fitness. What you’ve got to find is somebody that sells the “results.”

I say again, There. Are. No. Shortcuts.

Do the thing.

In the end, I decided against the bet. The three goals together were more important to me than a simple weight loss number, and in fact, the shoulders are the overriding target. I didn’t want to put myself in a position where I was “motivated” to ignore the overall goal and/or do something that would compromise my health simply for a bet.

But, yes, I need a defined time-frame. Thus, I’ve decided on a year again. My goal is 15% body fat, strong shoulders, and as much lean muscle mass as I can achieve by this time next year.

My “stretch” goal is to hit the 15% by July…

We’ll just have to see how I measure up.

Oh…and in case you feel that such lofty goals could be de-motivating…let’s review a couple of the things I’ve achieved on this journey so far:
1) I’ve lost 167 pounds.
2) I’ve BEATEN T2 diabetes (actual remission!)
3) I’ve eliminated around $10,000 in annual and dangerous prescription drugs from my “repertoire”.
4) I’ve eliminated debilitating chronic pain (one could argue I’ve substituted a lot of muscle soreness for that, but that’s a positive trade and subject for another blog). I’ll point out for clarity that even my consumption of over-the-counter pain medications (Ibuprofen is my go-to) is all but eliminated. I may have taken 3 tablets in the last month.
5) I am accomplishing things daily that I could not have achieved even in my “farm work fitness” days. I’ve not been this fit in well…ever, despite the 40 pounds of extra fat.

This are not minor things. These were not easy things.

The path forward isn’t an easy thing either.

The trick is…whether I ever stepped foot on this path or not…easy was never in the cards.

I just wish I’d understood that sooner.

Do the thing.

I’ll see you on the road.

CUAgain,
Daniel Meyer
You can read more about my fitness journey here.

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Back to the grind…

The stats…

Okay, back to my trainer this morning…1st time in over a year…

So, what do two major surgeries, 16 weeks (4 months) out of the year with NO gym/strenuous exercise, the entire REST of a year on “light duty”, and the massive amount of craptastic food pushed at us during the holidaze do for my fitness?

Well…I gained 20 pounds, lost 2 pounds of muscle…not good…but not as bad as it could have been.

I’m a bit ashamed of that…I *couldn’t* do the really hard work…but I could have damn sure tightened up on my nutrition. 

Ah well…still -167 off my peak…and only about 40 pounds from a lean 15% body fat.

Back to the grind!

CUAgain,
Daniel Meyer

You can read more about my fitness journey here.

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Felt good…

I had a barbell in my hands today…for the first time since the surgery on my left shoulder in August…

Yeah, it was lightly loaded, but I did it. Barbell bent rows at 95 pounds. RDL’s at 135. My shoulders were fine with this. Heavier weights are coming very soon.

My intensity in the gym has suffered this year, especially in the last few months since the second surgery, mainly because I spend a LOT of time doing light, twiddly exercises on the shoulders, working on functionality and very basic strength.

I’ve not been happy with that “low intensity” even though I DO get the cardio in.

Today was different. Just a few lifts, even light ones, had the heart chugging and muscles pumping.

It’s amazing to me, just how much of the body those seemingly simple lifts actually tax. Intellectually I know this…those sorts of movements involve nearly all the leg, shoulder, and core muscles…massive muscles and big movements.

Gawd I needed that. I also needed the confirmation…the affirmation…that my intensity is capable of coming up…that I CAN recover…and I’m rapidly headed that way.

I’ve got a lot of work to do…not only to get the shoulders back in form…but the rest of me too. I’m pleased to see that it’s at least possible…and it’s time I got back to it.

I’ll see you on the road…or at the gym.

CUAgain,
Daniel Meyer

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To “thing” or not to “thing”? That isn’t the question.

A tough morning today. Started out “off kilter”, so to speak, and I never quite got it back “on”…

It began with a fitful night’s sleep I suppose…weight of the world and all that…and very sore shoulders. PT’s been brutal recently as they prepare to kick me out. I’ve still got a long way to go but insurance will only allow so much of this stuff.

When the alarm went off I first knocked the durn phone off the table reaching for it…and then I swiped “snooze”…the first indicator of a swiftly tilting kilter. “Snooze” I seldom use.

At least…I *thought* I swiped snooze. Fifteen minutes later I startled awake and realized I’d missed that mark. Crap. I’d not even dragged my fuzzy white butt out of bed and I was already late.

Coffee was in order…that’s my preferred “pre-workout” drink. I like it, it perks me up (see what I did there?), and it leaves me in a fasted state for my workout, which I’ve found to be helpful in training away my “insulin resistance”. T2’s a bitch yanno? And I killed it. This irritates a surprising number of medical folks.

So, coffee? Yes…except I turned on the magic Kerig thing, poured the water in, added the unsustainable (really?) pod, and then promptly pushed the “power” button instead of the red flashing “brew” button. Pushing the “power” button when it’s already on is akin to breaking Harry Potter’s wand. If you do this the magic just won’t flow. Also Voldemort will rule the universe but that’s not a real concern for me before coffee.

I remained blissfully unaware of my incorrect sequencing.

I turned on the news and got dressed for the gym. Well, sort of. Somewhere in the middle of the dressing part I realized I was hearing no comforting “COFFEE IS BREWING” noises so I went to investigate. Mmmm…yeah. If I ruled the world I’d never have to MAKE coffee before I’d HAD coffee. I would set things up the night before to make the magic brew but that’s resulted in fireballs and screaming and blood before…twice…but that’s another story.

Played the “fake out the machine so it will brew” game (it doesn’t like being interrupted) and sat down to put on my shoes.

Ahhh. Coffee’s ready. Shoes are on. Coffee’s consumed (man that ammo goes fast!). I’m ready. I stepped out in the freezing driveway and promptly found “Nosejob”, daAltima, wouldn’t unlock. I had to push the little button on the door handle a surprisingly large number of times before I understood why. Seems ya gotta have the keyfob for that. Stupid cars. Won’t work without keys. Some sort of security feature I guess.

Went back in, grabbed the ‘fob, and then realized that I had no pockets to put it in.

“Mmmm. Weird.” thought I, “All my shorts have pockets.” It’s sort of a prerequisite for me. Without pockets where would I put all those lead wheel weights I seem to find in parking lots? I still don’t understand why I feel the compulsion to pick them up, but pockets are required for this function or I end up carrying them around all day in my hand.

That’s when I realized WHY I had no pockets.

Sigh. I was only wearing my underwear and a t-shirt. Now, men’s underwear does have A pocket, but it is inconveniently located for carrying lead weights. Slightly uncomfortable if anything not intended to be in that pocket ends up there anyway. Particularly for working out.

Coffee interruptions. Dangerous things.

Ah well. It’s not likely the neighbors are out at 0-stupid-30…and they’ve seen it before anyway…more times than I can comfortably explain.

The neighbors are one thing…me at the gym sans shorts is another. Nobody deserves that.

Shoes off. Shorts on. Shoes on. Keyfob in pocket. “Nosejob” started, and I’m *FINALLY* on my way to the gym.

Except I have to detour. The road is closed. Half the lanes are closed for construction and it seems some truck driving dude missed the turn and got his back wheels stuck in the hole.

Good thing there’s not a lot of traffic. A quick u-turn, a couple different roads, and NOW I was on my way to the gym. I kept watching the horizon. I figured the way things had been going so far this morning, nuclear Armageddon might be up next.

But no. Clean trip to the gym. I turned off “Nosejob” and reached for my water bottle…only to realize it was sitting empty, on the counter, next to the magic bean juice machine.

“Who cares?” the casual reader may say, “you can make a workout without the water…they have drinking fountains anyway!”

Yep. But the magic keytag required to let me in the club is hanging from the ring on the side of the bottle…where it always is. In 18 months of “doing the thing”, I’ve never forgotten it (hence, why the keytag is attached to it).

So…after a choice curse word or two…back to the house. Water bottle acquired. Back to the club.

Workout worked out. Late, but done. I had to rush after that. Quick shower. Smack the wife on the butt. Hand her a couple lead wheel weights I was carrying around for some reason. Brave the Dallas traffic to go do the stuff that pays for all these shenanigans.

The point of all this?

Coffee coffee sumthin sumthin…

Ur. No. That’s not it. This is:

A year ago any single one of these obstructions would have given me every reason, excuse, or justification to skip the workout.

And while this came up deep in the dark recesses of my brain, today it never got any serious consideration.

To “thing” or not to “thing”? was never the question. “How big a mess am I gonna have to make to go DO the thing?” was.

…and that makes all the difference.

I’ll see you on the road…or perhaps at the gym.

Oh…and I’ve probably got your lost wheel-weights.

CUAgain,
Daniel Meyer

You can read more about my fitness journey here.

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