Early to bed, and early to rise
Benjamin Franklin, Poor Richard’s Almanack
Makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise.
Early to rise, and early to bed
Yakko Warner, Animaniacs
Makes a man healthy, but socially dead.
Dearest Rachel –
After a night rehearsing for the Christmas Eve service (and hoping in vain that I could find a place – other than Starbucks – where I could get a coffee on my way there to keep myself awake throughout it all), I had rather hoped I could get a decent night’s sleep afterwards. And while I’d like to think I slept reasonably well, I was dismayed to grab my phone this morning to check the time, only to see the number “4:20” staring back at me.
You’ll recognize that particular time as the notorious “weed hour.” Not from any real experience of your own, as such (although that would be a memory worth recording, if not for publishing for all to see) but from memetics spread across the internet; thanks to those rumors and gossip, everyone knows what 4:20 represents these days. Ironically, I’d be willing to bet that most stoners are barely aware that the moment arrives twice a day, and this particular time is the one they’re unfamiliar with.
In fairness, I’d rather not be making my acquaintance with it today, either. Yes, I know that the gym is open at this hour, and has been for approximately twenty minutes. And when I stepped on the scale this morning, I was (as always) just slightly over the two-ten benchmark I’d rather have left in the rearview mirror long ago, so a workout would do those numbers good. The thing is, though, I think I’m starting to feel a little worse for wear from all that, even after (most of) a night’s rest. I’m not exactly footsore, but my legs from the knees down still could use some more rest, and my left shoulder feels ever so slightly strained. Most curiously, my left thumb has been aching for a couple of weeks – nothing major, mind you, but it just feels… jammed… and it constantly reminds me of this fact whenever I’m holding onto something too tightly, like a weight bar or the treadmill. And while I get that the pain signifies that the muscles are tearing themselves so as to rebuild themselves stronger and more durable (at least, I understand that’s the theory), that rebuilding process requires them to rest a bit, and I’m not sure I’ve been given them sufficient time to do that. As much as a workout would be guaranteed to reduce my weight (for a moment, anyway) to the opposite side of the two-ten line, I’m not sure it’s the best thing for me.
Moreover, I’m not fond of always having to be apologetic about showing up at the ‘office’ so late in the morning. Between the workout and the washing up and dressing out afterwards, this can chew up three or four hours of my morning. Like me, my folks are morning people; it’s rather how I’ve come by my early bird habits, even if I only acknowledge myself as such by process of elimination – whatever I am, I have not been nor ever will be a night owl. Now, I realize I don’t answer to them – they’ve made that abundantly clear – in terms of getting there – and it’s not as if I have a whole lot of real ‘work’ to do there – but I think that, for once, it would just do us all a little more good for me to be a little more present in the morning for a change.
So, I’m not only not going to charge over to the gym at this ridiculous hour, I’m going to take the morning off from there entirely. I’ll roll over and go back to sleep for now, and when I get up, I’ll grab a quick breakfast and hopefully make it to the ‘office’ by what I would consider to be “on time” for once.
Granted, I turned out to be a little too successful in rolling over and going back to sleep; by the time I finally gave up and surrendered to consciousness, it was well after seven-thirty. Still, I managed to throw together a quick breakfast with stuff I’d had in the freezer for such a contingency (all the while writing a mental note to get out to the store to purchase milk and juice so as to be better-stocked by tomorrow morning – one more thing that will keep me from the gym today, most likely, despite my packing my shorts and towels, just in case), and left the house juuust after nine, when I would have preferred to arrive.
It was good enough, though. I’m not really coming to the ‘office’ because there’s ‘work’ to be done or deadlines to meet (although they do happen from time to time); I’m there in case the folks need my help. And what do you know, but as I was pulling into the driveway, I got a call from them. Dad wanted me to stay in the car, and chauffeur Mom out to the local drugstore; she needed to pick up cold medicine for him, and Dad thought I might as well get her over there while I was ready to go. I wouldn’t have been nearly as much of a help if I’d delayed myself until ten or eleven o’clock, like I’ve done on the regular for most of the past month.
So maybe I’ll rest my muscles for a little longer, while I hang out at the ‘office’ for a few more hours than I usually do these days. It’s still less than an ordinary work day used to be. And while I may not take the time to hit the treadmill, I’ll have to make a couple of stops on my way home that will have me covering a reasonable amount of territory; it just won’t be on an incline, or have me sweating like mad. Hopefully, by the time I feel like really giving my muscles the workout they need, they’ll be feeling better about the process, and be willing to let me do as I need to with them.
Until then, though, keep an eye on me, honey, and wish me luck. I’m going to need it.
Letters to Rachel 