Dearest Rachel –
One of the reasons that I go into such great detail with you about some of my workouts is the fact that I never used to do this when you were alive. I don’t think it ever crossed either of our minds back in the day. There was a point in time when my doctor recommended that I go to a dietitian and do something about my food choices – which we never got around to because of the pandemic, as well as the fact that cooking healthy meals on our schedule was just too difficult for either of us – but actually exercising never came up between us.
Which might be considered odd, when you think about the fact that you encouraged me to spend some time away from the house on a daily basis, ‘working’ at the folks’ place. Although that may not have been so much your trying to get me to give you some space (which you may have thought you needed) as it was for me to keep my hand in with my own skills as well as pursuing my own separate dreams. You encouraged me to get out and ‘work,’ yes, but you never considered encouraging me to work out.
And, given my current motivation to do so, I can’t blame you. You weren’t the suspicious type – and I’d like to think that I never gave you any reason to become that – but if I were suddenly to start getting interested in exercising and sculpting my body into something more appealing, I wouldn’t blame you for wondering why. Especially since now, those suspicions you might have would have been justified; attracting some other woman is in fact the very reason that I’m doing this, and not any particular health benefits. After all, why, if I’m to spend the rest of my life without you (or any other woman) in my life, would I want to prolong it?
But without you around, there is this need to turn this ‘dad bod’ into something a little more attractive, however futile a pursuit that might be. Hence, the time spent walking on the treadmill every other day or so. I mention all this so that those reading over your shoulder don’t get the impression I was always like this.
But today was a weird sort of day in which I woke up both early enough and motivated enough to get out there and do such stuff, but my body was protesting about how sore it was. Unusually for a weekend (even one in which I’m not fasting while working the booth), I’d made my way to the gym yesterday and put in a good four and a half miles. As a result, my feet and my hands (from gripping the treadmill bar on those inclines) were reminding my brain that they weren’t necessarily up to such strenuous exercise.
“No problem,” it responded. “We’re out of milk, so why don’t we give ourselves a different destination for once? We can head out to grab something else for breakfast, and if we’re still reasonably functional, we can hit the gym for some light working out before we eat it.” Somehow, this suggestion seemed amenable to even the more exhausted parts of my body – and my stomach lobbied particularly hard for some carbs as a real treat – and thus agreed upon, I wandered off to the local grocery for a change of pace.
It was so early that, when I set out, the store was still closed, but since I was walking the mile there rather than driving, it was open by the time I arrived. Interestingly, though, the bakery still hadn’t gotten anything set out yet, although I could smell the fresh bread behind the counter. It took a moment, but the girl working the counter eventually noticed I was looking for something, and asked if I needed help. Upon indicating that there were neither bagels nor donuts on display, she said they had just been taken out of the oven, and asked if that’s what I wanted.
Was it? Absolutely. After she rattled off a list of the varieties on hand, I settled on a pair of their cheese bagels, which she promptly put into a plastic clamshell for me.
In any event, by the time I got back to the house, my feet seemed to think they could handle an hour or so on the treadmill after all; and so, after dropping off my purchase there, I headed up the street to put in my time there as well. Unfortunately, I hadn’t consulted with my hands, which were already getting a little sweaty from carrying the warm bagel, and as a result, I couldn’t hang onto the bar for more than thirty minutes or so. Still, it was early enough that I just put in two sessions of thirty minutes each, as opposed to a single trek lasting a full hour; no problem.
Granted, working out with the promise of breakfast afterwards defeats the original purpose; I’m sure I consumed nearly as many calories as I expended. But it’s certainly better than nothing, and it’s enough to get me started on the day… during which I hope you’ll keep your eye on me, honey, and wish me luck. I’m going to need it.
Letters to Rachel 