After nearly 29 years of marital bliss (and 5 years of
dating prior to that) it still amazes me to watch my wife Cathy do her thing,
or should I say—things.
Now before we travel down this road I’d like to make what I
consider a pair of fairly reasonable assumptions, and that is on the whole we
tend to have more on our proverbial plates these days then ever before, and
that some people are simply far better equipped to handle it all than others.
Cathy, in all her gung ho glory, is without question one of
these people, she is—a multi-tasking maestro. However, it’s not so much her
adroit ability to tackle umpteen things at once that amazes me, it’s the
exuberant energy with which she does it, as well as, her uncanny capacity to
refocus and/or redirect that energy in an instant. How’s she do it? I wish I
knew, but like I say, there’s definitely a buzzing energy about her, and I’m
not talkin some caffeine crazed power surge, but a rapid-fire rhythm that’s
every bit as merry and melodic as a Richard Rodgers’ show tune. In fact on a
number of occasions I swear I’ve heard her hummin the chorus of Oh What A
Beautiful Mornin while busily goin about her business.
Me, I’m cut from a different cloth. Unlike Cathy I just don’t
have the firepower to run on all canisters the entire day. After gettin up at
four in the mornin and spendin the better part of the day behind the wheel I
normally start flirtin with fatigue somewhere around the three o’clock hour.
But it’s not so much physical exhaustion as it is psychological brain fade. In
either case it’s highly counterproductive. Because its here, in the dragging
hours immediately following my day gig that I can make some of the worst
decisions of the day.
Although for wildly different reasons it sorta reminds me of
my after school days circa freshman sophomore year in high school; everyday I’d
come home to an uninhabited house with solid intentions of doin something
constructive, but instead would wind up slouched in front of the TV spoonin
Spagettio’s outta the can with a few unindustrious buddies whose idea of an
uber productive day was determining who’s hotter Ginger or Mary Ann.
These days, however, if I choose to “slouch” off, I’ve got
no one but myself to blame. Because not only have my comatose classmates long
since gone on to bigger and better things (one can only hope right?) but I too
have generously matured over the past thirty-five years. In other words, I’m
old enough to *&*$%^ know better.
So why then is it that I insist Cathy keep a can of
Spagettio’s in the pantry at all times? What is it about that ill-postured
position that after all this time continues to remain so agonizingly inviting?
And who the hell’s behind that William Shatner-like voice which keeps
muttering, “relax, chill out, it’s been
a long ass day you deserve some R&R? Who is that? And why is it so
$&^% difficult to shut him up? I mean come on; seriously, I ain’t got time
for this shit. I’ve got things to do.
It was Vince Lombardi who emphatically told his players,
“You’ve got to keep yourself in prime physical condition, because fatigue makes
cowards of us all.” Now initially coward may sound a bit harsh, but no more so
really than weakling, wimp, quitter, deserter, or chicken-hearted invertebrate.
So go ahead, pick your poison, or better yet check all of the above, because
the truth is they’re all sown from the same seed.
Here at Ingzig® we talk a lot about Everyday Earnest
Effort™, and if you’ve ever thumbed through the pages of a self-help manual I’m
sure that along with a comprehensive list of actionable nouns was an equally
impressive showering of strategies, techniques and how to instructions. These
are often what the experts refer to as the principles and/or laws of personal
achievement and development. On the surface, “these laws,” as Russel Simmons
puts it, “are fairly simple, but it’s still a struggle to follow them.” And
trust me, when you’re tired; when you’re juice tank’s runnin on fumes, that
struggle can quickly turn into a full-blown battle, or worse—a lost cause.
This past Cinco De Mayo weekend four friends and I rode our
dirt bikes 200 miles across the Mojave Desert, from Barstow California to
Boulder City Nevada and into Lake Mead National Recreation Area. Now while most
of us had ridden sections of the mapped-out area before none of us had ever
gone the entire distance from start to finish in one fell swoop. The week prior
to the ride I personally spent a considerable amount of time prepping my bike
and readying my gear, makin sure everything was snug and up to snuff. Weeks
before that I started gettin myself geared up; I got plenty of rest, drank lots
of fluids (little or no beer), and put the pedals to the metal on the
stationary bike. Well, guess what? It
paid off big time. I felt good the entire ride; my body was hydrated, my eyes
were clear, and my mind unflinchingly sharp and alert, all of which comes in
handy when you’re pinned in fourth gear on a dusty single track that’s riddled
with unforgiving sand wash crossings only an experienced camel jockey could
appreciate.
Long story short, after a front tube change worthy of a
NASCAR review (or an America’s Funniest Home Videos submission depending
on who ya ask), a skillfully averted upper body injury from an air born gas can
(we’ll unofficially file this one under Unsolved Mysteries material),
and a beautifully choreographed sequence of side-splitting get-offs from the W
twins on orange and red (yea you know who you are) we made it.
The girls, who were always just a phone call away in the
event that we needed some assistance, welcomed us with open arms on the now
“Halleluiah!” not-so-distant shores of stunning Lake Mead. After a deserving
round of toasts we showered up, tossed some carne asada on the grill and played
a heated round of rock paper scissors for the last iced down MGD in the cooler
before finally settling in to watch the Supercross Finals from nearby Las Vegas.
It was there while watchin Ryan Dungey and friends scale the jumps and slam the
whoops that Winston, the red rider, and clearly the worse for wear out of our
five-man squad, announced “Man! Them dudes gotta be in some serious shape.” It
was then as I chip-dipped into the homemade salsa one more last time that I
offhandedly said to myself, “No shit Sherlock, what’s yer point?”
My point is that no matter what your hopes and dreams
look like, chances are you’re gonna have to fight to keep em alive. And that’s
gonna take some energy, lots and lots of energy. Because we’re not talkin some
200 mile joy ride that begins and ends within a matter of a few hours, or a
handful of hurdles that as a rule can be tamed with a handful of throttle and a
little bit of body english. We’re talkin an open-ended journey that’s gonna put
you face to face with obstacles that’ll make the ugliest of rocky sections look
as buttery smooth as a baking sheet. Of course regardless of the length or
landscape the cool thing about getting around any obstacle is that it gets ya
pumped up and poppin with energy—albeit, excitable energy.
Remember Julie the depressed and overweight divorced mother
of two whom with the recommendation of Dr. Robert Maurer marched in place in
front of her television each day for one minute? Remember how eager and
enthusiastic she was upon her follow-up visit, asking the Dr., What else can
I do in one minute a day? That’s a classic example of excitable energy. But
you might also recall that while Dr. Maurer was too very excited and pleased
with Julie’s “brightened spirit,” he clearly acknowledged that sixty seconds of
low-intensity exercise would in fact do very little for her long-term aerobic
capacity.
Now with that said I’m gonna make yet another matter-of-fact
assumption, and that is despite the amount of physical exercise I get; no
matter how many miles I churn out on that stationary bike, when it comes to
unleashed energy I doubt I’ll ever be able to hold a candle to Cathy. I could
pedal to China and back and probably still not have the get-up-and-go that she
has. That’s a given. However, like oomph-impaired Julie who eventually went on
to meet the American Medical Association’s guidelines for cardiovascular
exercise, I too know there’s things I can do—and must do—to put a little extra
wind in my sails.
Imagine if you will comin home from a long hard day at work
and still havin some extra spring in your step. Imagine if you can all of the
things you could suddenly achieve and accomplish. Now that’s exciting. Now
that’s assuming of course you do have some hopes and dreams. That’s
assuming of course you’re not just some coward who’s willing to sit idly by and
watch those hopes and dreams drift away. Of course you do, of course you’re
not, and of course you won’t. Because I know…you know better. See ya next time.
Till then, keeep it up.
P.S. This month’s title comes courtesy of the late great
blues artist Katie Webster via the Ivory Joe Hunter R&B classic Since I
Met You Baby on BB King's collaboration CD Blues Summit.
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