Sunday, December 6, 2009

Fat Lady on a Treadmill - Day Nine

Help me if you can, I'm feeling down. Well, not so much down, as pooped. I slept like a log and woke up feeling like said log. Needless to say, I didn’t much want to go to the pit, but I’m resolved to come out the winner in this power struggle, so Daughter #1 and I head out.

And I do appreciate you being round. No, not the shape, though I do appreciate that there are folks at the pit who are that shape, and thus make me feel somewhat smug about my own shape which borders more on barrel than round. I do appreciate Daughter #1 being my companion even though she isn’t any happier about going there today than I am. We’ve already covered the misery loves company angle.

Help me, get my feet back on the ground. Never is this more meaningful than when I’ve been on the stair thing-a-ma-jiggy for twenty minutes or so. My legs feel more like hot pokers than muscle and bone and I’m not sure I can get down on my own, short of falling off and this doesn’t seem like a pleasant option.

Won't you please, please help me. By the sixtieth floor this is no longer an idle plea. I figure I’ve climbed the equivalent of the Empire State Building four times this week. When I look at it this way I’m inclined to believe I need help of an entirely different nature, if you get my drift.

When I was younger, so much younger than today, I never needed anybody's help in any way. Ahh, the arrogance of youth! The pit is full of C-25-30’s today. None of them appear to be in need of any help. At that age I didn’t either, or so I believed. Aging brings wisdom in so many ways, one of which is to ask for help when you need it, and lend a helping hand when asked. Now if that C-20 bench pressing 180 lbs. would just ask for my help. I’m thinking I could count reps (which I’m already doing), or maybe CPR.

But now these days are gone, I'm not so self assured, Now I find I've changed my mind and opened up the doors. I’m not sure at what point it happened, but it did. The blind optimism of youth gave way to the cautious optimism of adulthood. I’m not sure I can do this whole exercise/fitness routine, but I’m willing to give it a try. At any rate, I’m trying to keep an open mind about it.

And now my life has changed in oh so many ways. If there is one thing I am certain about in life, it’s that you never know what’s coming next. Pardon if I don’t elaborate. Lack of oxygen can do that to you.

My independence seems to vanish in the haze. I think some people confuse individualism with independence. I would never give up my individuality, but I’ve long since given up my personal independence. I see this as a good thing. I depend on a lot of folks. It’s nice to have family and friends to lean. They can be counted on to bolster my sagging self esteem and see me through the occasional crisis. I’m having one of those occasional crises right now. I really need to figure out where they keep the oxygen tank in this place.

But every now and then I feel so insecure. Make that unstable, in more ways than one. I present this blog as exhibit A. I must be getting to the top of the building where the air is thin. Why else would all this crap be filling my head?

I know that I just need you like I've never done before. Where is B.P.G. (Bench Press Guy)? I need help here. I bet he could give me a hand getting off this thing. I’d settle for Daughter #1 telling me she’s had enough and is ready to go. I refuse to give in first. This is my individuality showing. I am bested daily in this place, but I refuse give in before the kid does.

Help, I need somebody,
Help, not just anybody,
Help, you know I need someone, help.

No sign of M.M. or the Bronze God today. Luckily there was B.P.G. and Beatles to get me through. Many thanks to John Lennon for letting me borrow his lyrics. I made it up sixty stories and five miles on the lounge chair bike. Maybe I’ll come back tomorrow.

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