Gratitude

I'm nervous, tomorrow is weigh in. Will I show some/any improvement or will I go on some horrible Dolly Madison despaired filled binge? I was better with the diet this week than the week before but I was not hardcore about it.

Did you know there's a comment/suggestion box at the gym and right above it are the trainers' answers on a bulletin board? Oh my, whatever shall I do? evil grin

"Father, your entire life has been a mid-life crises."

Deep wisdom from my fourteen year old son, what one might call a near if not absolute truth. TomS sent me a YouTube video of a live Jason Isbell performance and he's holding what appears to be a Gretsch hollow body. There's space on the basement wall for it next to the other two guitars I don't play, currently collecting dust.

I want to play the guitar around the fire-pit, I just don't want to put the required effort in, heck I don't want to put in the required effort to move from mediocre to so-so in Guitar Hero. These early March thoughts give me pause. It would be entirely in character for me to simply stop exercising and move on to some new shiny bauble.

When I was seventeen I was a cross country runner. a varsity wrestler (175lbs), a varsity tennis player, a varsity 880 track runner, and a summer swim team swimmer. Mentally (and my wife can verify this) I still think I'm seventeen. This mindset can cause seriously pulled muscles and bad backs at times when I'm attempting to do something that only a seventeen year old should try.

Here's a fair 'mental image' approximation of yours truly

Rare photo of Bill cleaning his room (probably why mom took the pic)

Since that photo was taken I've developed a vampiric loathing of mirrors. When I glance at my reflection I see a disheartened, angry seventeen year old staring back, "Dude, you really have let yourself go during your thirty year exercise hiatus."

So I thought I'd take pause and spit out exactly what exercise has done for me, sixty three days down this winding road, this mad path.

• My father calls and says, proudly, "You're making me look bad!"
• My son has a hint of hero worship about him
• My wife, um, appreciates me more blush
• My daughter gives me more hugs
• My mother reads my blog and checks on progress
• I feel better, sleep better and as I rid myself of poisons, think better
• An entire hidden world has opened filled with exotic creatures named Bubbles, Diablo, notFestus/wickedWoman, IronMan, goodMood, MarathonMan, JRock and countless others named and unnamed in this blog
• I rediscovered my love of music and am entertaining thoughts of dusting off those guitars
• I want to find new and interesting ways to hurt myself and try them

It boils down to this. Yesterday I was standing in front of the deep dark truthful mirror doing curls. This is forced, form is everything in these things. You must look.

Yes I'm still a flabby, out of shape pear of a man, struggling with fifteen pound dumbbells.

I stare with open frankness into those seventeen year old, dismayed, furious eyes and a catch a glimpse of... a whisper of... gratitude.

See ya at the gym!