March 21, 2006 6:38 AM
Why today?
It may be because there’s a chance that possibly my brother and I might go on a hike this summer. Maybe. I haven’t really committed yet because, well, there’s a lot of snags like money, time, schedule (we’re moving), and my big fear of committing to things. We’ve gone on a few hikes in the past few years and each one (Smokies, UP in Michigan) has been stellar. I’ve also dreaded each one to some extent, in some part of me, however I’ve never regretted doing it.
But right now I’m trying to figure out why today I couldn’t go back to sleep after my son woke up at 5:30 with a dirty diaper. I changed him and put him back in his crib, got back into my cozy bed next to my sleeping wife, happy to catch maybe a couple more hours of sleep. Just like most mornings. But this morning my eyes wouldn’t shut all the way. I stared at the ceiling. I looked over at the clock that glowed 6:00 in green, the colon blinking between the numbers like a taunt. I whispered to my wife, “Sherry?” No response. I said in a full voice, “Sherry.” She replied with a sleepy and somewhat agitated “What?” We’re first time parents and still a little nervous to even be sleeping at all, always ready to wake up. Still staring through the blades of the motionless ceiling fan I said, “Would it be crazy if I went for a walk?” I felt her turn and look at the clock. “It’s six of clock,” she said with the subtext “what are you a f**king moron?” She continued, “It’s dark and cold.” I was surprised to find my own wife as the devil sitting on my shoulder. I let a few seconds pass, maybe I’d fall asleep. I didn’t. I said, “I know it’s early, but people do that, right? They get up and go for a jog?” I wouldn’t really know as I’m rarely up at this hour. She said, “I think so” and she went back to sleep.
I blame that damn Rocky. The movie was on a few days ago as I sat on the couch with a bag of pretzels, flipping through the channels. I only saw the part where he ran up the steps and threw his arms up in jubilation as the weird choir sang “buying wire” or whatever it is they say.
The next thing I know I’m out of bed putting on my thermal pants, the ones I bought for my first hike six or so years ago. I’m feeling great. The anticipation is really great, almost euphoric. Am I really doing this?! It’s 6:30 in the morning and I’m up! The truth is I hate exercise. I enjoy the thought of it, the idea of music playing as I begin running under a street lamp through the foggy wet haze of the morning, but I find the actual doing to be less than cinematic. The other thing is that I own an old grey sweatshirt like the one Rocky wears and I really thought I would look cool.
As I lace up my tennis shoes I’m still trying to figure out...why today? I don’t know, but maybe I do. A month ago I quit smoking. I say that with some hesitance because I’m still not sure I quit. I still miss it. Thirteen months ago I quit drinking. I’m more confident of that fact, though I don’t dwell on it too much because one day at a time is how it’s worked so far. I’m 6’4” and about to turn the big 3-0. I’m also about to hit the bigger 3-0-0 pounds, 298 to be exact (though I think the scale we have is a big mean liar). People seem surprised when I tell them how much I weigh, probably just because I’m sharing it for no reason, but when you’re tall you can “get away” with a few extra pounds. I think that’s the real issue for those who feel the need to sue McDonalds. I don’t think they're upset that they’re fat; it’s that they’re short. But for some reason, lately I don’t feel like I’m getting away with anything.
I’m now wearing my thermal bottoms, sweatpants, thick socks (another hiking purchase), tennis shoes, a thermal shirt, t-shirt, and my cool grey hooded sweatshirt. I sort of stretch, remembering the physical therapist I worked with in high school when I injured my knee in football practice (that’s another story), the one who commented that I had the tightest hamstrings she’d ever seen. I believe I replied with a “thank you” without any awareness that it may not have been a compliment. I’m standing in my living room, now fully decked out like Sly himself (minus the tape around my hands...I think I’ll get some). I’m thinking, “Maybe this is a good first step. Maybe this is enough for today.” But today I’m not getting away with that.
I wasn’t gone for too long, and I doubt I made it a mile. But I jogged. Then walked. Then jogged. Then mostly just walked. My mind was racing, thinking about what a change I’d made in myself, that when I got home I would do sit-ups and pushups, clean the house, do the yard, and I’d never be lethargic again. The cold air felt great in my lungs, and while I probably didn’t look as cool as I felt, I feel good now. But I’ve been here before, many times. My history is littered with newly turned over leaves.
I didn’t do any sit-ups or pushups because quite frankly, I’m about to collapse. I didn’t clean the house or work in the yard because those things are boring. And come summer, I don’t know whether or not I’ll hike with my brother, or if I’ll still weigh what I do now. I do know that the sun is coming out more and my son will wake up soon for the day. I’ll have to get him ready for daycare and go to work myself. My day has started, and that’s all I have to deal with at the moment.
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