Failed Discipline

Dearest Rachel –

In the past few years – especially in the last thousand days, for fairly obvious reasons – I’ve been constantly trying to add this thing or that to my ‘routine,’ such as it is. Some have stuck, at least thus far – these letters in and of themselves, for example, but also things like the Saturday morning Bible study, or my trips to the gym (although I have yet to establish a ‘regular’ date and time for that, necessarily). Others, not so much – I no longer walk across town like I used to, and I never could take to running, despite promising Erin that I would if she would.

You can add one more attempt to the list of failed attempts at establishing a disciplined routine to my life. Yesterday morning had me up early; not quite so much so that I could show up at the gym as it opened, but early enough that, in theory, I could go there and return before either of the boys would wake up. But I was still suffering slight saddle sores from my last visit there (I probably overtaxed myself by pressing on with that seventeen-mile route, to be honest), and I decided that, rather than putting myself through such paces as that, I would do a certain amount of calisthenics in the bedroom instead, and work myself into a sweat before taking a shower. I ran (or more accurately, marked time) in place for about ten minutes while the computer worked on a few new AI images (such as the one of you staring sadly at discarded calendar pages), and did a handful of other moves, such as press-ups and squat thrusts as well.

But the centerpiece of this effort was supposed to be a hundred sit-ups, in order to work on my ‘core’. Most of my exercises thus far have been geared more toward burning calories than building muscle, but when it comes to my stomach specifically, it seems that I need to do the latter in order to effect the former. So I decided that this sort of exercise would help to remedy the situation, and any morning that I decided not to go to the gym, I should henceforth perform this exercise going forward, in order to tone myself regardless of what I might choose to do with my morning.

All a very noble goal, with the best of intentions. But you would think I should have learned better to not make such promises to myself before I put myself through the process for even the first time.

It’s not that I didn’t manage to do it, mind you. I actually did all one hundred sit-ups, complete with the hands clasped behind my neck and my feet locked under the chair for the sake of purchase. But I could do no more than twenty of them at a time without pausing to rest – and with each single pause, it got that much harder to restart myself and begin on the next series of twenty. By the time I was done with the fifth series, I was sweating more than I would normally do on the rowing machine; which is ironic, as it probably takes twice as many extensions for me to travel the sixteen hundred meters that I usually set myself to.

And while I felt a sort of gratifying tightness in my abdomen for most of the rest of the day, suggesting to me that what I had put myself through was, to some extent, having the desired effect, there was another, less pleasant sensation I found myself dealing with as well. Now normally, I don’t ‘feel it’ after exercising the way some people do; you know, the stiff back or aching joints the following morning after overexerting oneself. Even you would complain of symptoms like this after certain manual labor, such as the constant bending over and straightening up of leaf cleanup duties, whereas I might be stiff in the shoulders for a few hours thereafter from raking, but it would invariably be gone before morning, if not by that very evening.

But this particular exercise was different. I woke up this morning with a silver dollar sized circle at the base of my spine that was still aching. When I merely tried to raise myself off the bed this morning, it felt as if I was placing my entire weight on that spot in particular, and even though the bed is considerably softer than the bedroom floor (where I had been performing these sit-ups yesterday morning), it wasn’t enough to assuage the pain of trying to lift myself up from that point of balance.

So needless to say, that was more than enough to dissuade me from doing anything more than getting up this morning. Oh, I gave it a quick try; I hooked my feet under the chair and tried to sit up a few times, but my coccyx was having none of it. Six lifts into it, and I was flat on my back, ready to give up.

The gym rat’s motto may be “no pain, no gain”, but the way I understand it, pain is your body’s attempt to notify you that you’re doing something wrong, and you should stop doing it. I may not be the smartest person on earth, but I know when I’m pushing myself too hard, or perhaps in the wrong direction. Maybe there’s something I need to do differently, but for the moment, I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t be doing this at all. So I’m not going to be able to make a habit out of this as intended; I’m going to have to find some other way to get this part of me into proper shape.

To that end, honey, keep an eye on me, and wish me luck. I’m going to need it.