Dearest Rachel –
Given the situation that’s been more or less dominating our lives for the past two weeks, even overshadowing the Christmas season and its attendant hustle and bustle, you would think that I would have more to say about Dad at this point. If nothing else, I’m pretty sure I’d given you the impression that he ought to be on your side of the Jordan by now, instead of celebrating his eighty-fifth birthday by leaving the hospital and settling into a convalescent home.
Moreover, yesterday’s move was – as I understand it – eventful and misadventurous in itself, with the time of the move changing from three-thirty to two (which I almost stayed there for), and back to three-thirty (at which point I decided to head out, as I’d been there for four hours or so), and finally to five. Not only that, but once I was home with Daniel, relaxing prior to heading out to the rehearsal for this weekend’s Christmas program at church, I got a call from Jenn, informing me that the hospital was trying to put him in a wheelchair in order to make the transfer, when he’d only been sitting up the one time throughout his time there, and couldn’t be expected to endure it. Granted, when I asked her what she thought I could be expected to do to help (because she seemed to be asking me to deal with the situation), she admitted that there wasn’t actually much I’d be likely to be able to do.
All of this, however, is part of why I’m not going to center on this particular event, honey, although I have at least made a point of letting you know about it, front and center. The thing is, I wasn’t in on the peak crazy, it would seem, so it’s not really my story to tell. The most I can say for now is that he’s still with us, he’s out of the hospital, and… well, that’s the bare-bones story of how it went down. Believe me, you’ll know if and when the situation changes further.
But I’ll admit that it might seem like the important thing is out of focus in my life, isn’t it?
***
For now, I’m dealing with my own situation, and the more commonplace issue of motivation – specifically, that of getting up and getting out to work out. I’ve already skipped one day of my usual three, because Lars and I went walking on Wednesday (although given the weather that day, how could we not? Not a cloud in the sky, temperatures nudging fifty – in December! – and always the chance to fill him in on what’s going on with Dad, with him responding as to what I and the family need to do to advocate for him and what he needs. I made sure to thank him, too, for the fact that he’s already done as much for him, getting him out of at least one near-miss this time around). I know that it’s still exercise, but it’s not the strenuous, calorie-burning effort that I put in at the gym. Moreover, when we do lunch together afterwards (especially at his favorite Greek place, where he tends to order a special off-the-menu item of octopus sautéed in a spicy garlic oglio), it rather negates the effects of our efforts, to be honest.
Granted, I quite understand that the point of our weekly walks is as much the fellowship as the exercise – and I try to tell myself that I’m okay with that (certainly, I tell him as much, as it’s certainly leagues more enjoyable) – but when I get home and step on the scale, only to see that I’ve actually fallen back by a pound or so, well, it does get under my skin. Lars has pointed out that it’s the trend that matters (and I’ve told him – and myself – that I can’t realistically expect to be losing weight during what the parody song calls “the most fattening time of the year”), but since the trend has been at best flat for the past month (if not inching upward ever so slightly), I don’t consider that to be particularly encouraging.
So, like it or not (and I don’t; or at least, my body doesn’t), I need to get back to the routine I’ve set for myself.
As you know, I prefer to make it to the gym just as it opens, and get my workout over with before otherwise beginning the day in general. Unfortunately, I can’t quite time my sleep schedule to get up early enough. Maybe it’s due to being at rehearsal until just about ten last night; ordinarily, if I want to get up by five, I send myself to bed before ten. In this case, I wasn’t even home by then. Now, you would have probably given me grief – all in good fun, of course – if I’d made such a complaint in your presence, but for all your ability to stay up so late, you never felt the need to be up so early.
Then again, I actually was awake, sort of, with plenty of time to spare. But when I look at the clock, and see the number four in front of the time display, I know I’m up far too early to bother. Thankfully, I managed to drop off again without much difficulty (clearly, I hadn’t gotten enough sleep yet; why my body – or was it my mind? – jarred me awake so soon, I’ll never know); however, by the time I regained consciousness, it was after six, long after the gym had opened. Moreover, when I stepped on the scale, I found that I was already at my lowest weight since my last workout on Monday. Needless to say, my body was petitioning my mind to take advantage of the good news, and just call in sleepy this morning.
My mind wasn’t having it; it wouldn’t be a sufficient excuse if I had a job, so it wasn’t about to accept it for something like this. Besides, it reasoned back, there would be fewer folks there for most of my time, since nearly everyone would clear out by seven, so I’d have more of the place to myself (not that I ever really have to wait to use this piece of equipment or another; and even if I did, I could simply mix up my routine, if it came down to that), and it isn’t as if I have to be anywhere at any point in time. Sure, I ought to go visit Dad, and sooner rather than later, but I still have to wrap up his present (another case of needing motivation, as well as supplies – you always seemed to enjoy wrapping packages, whereas I found it to be a chore. It didn’t help that I’m not all that good at it, although that may be a chicken-and-egg situation. In any event, I need to go out and get both packing and Scotch tape in order to do the job), so that will have to wait until the shops open in any event. So as long as all that has to wait, and I’m already up, I might as well get my usual thousand calories burnt. Besides, my mind pointed out, I won’t have the chance to go work out next Monday, being Christmas, leaving me going more than a week without a single workout.
Thus reasoned with, my body acceded. And for what it’s worth, it managed to peel off some four pounds off of me in the hour-and-a-half my mind forced it through. Not enough to get back down to a hundred kilos, but again, it’s the holidays. Even staying close is good enough for now.
Anyway, I need to grab breakfast and get on with the day, honey. Keep an eye on me, and wish me luck; I’m going to need it.
Letters to Rachel 