Forging Steel out of Jelly
It took me far too long to realize that just about everything in life requires hard work. Inspiration can carry a writer, painter, artist, fat guy with a backpack only so far. At some point the writer begins to work on the craft of writing, or she is stuck pouring her raw talent into facebook updates. The painter learns to see light, or he is left with doing cartoon drawings of his coworkers. A fat man with a backpack gets off his ass and tries to turn some of that fat to muscle or he is doomed to forever craning his neck to look up at the places he longs to climb, but is unable to reach.
I've carved fifty pounds off my frame, and still have at least another fifty to go. Trudging up the side of Guadalupe Peak was a challenge that I passed, but in June when I try to climb the 13,141 feet tall Wheeler Peak I won't have boyhood dreams pushing me along when my legs turn to jelly. I have to turn as much of that jelly into corded strands of steel as possible. I can't train for how the altitude will affect me, but I can build up my heart, lungs and legs.
This means that during my work week I get little sleep during the day. I get home at 6:15AM after being at work for over twelve hours, wake up between 12:45 and 1:00 PM, cook my next three meals, pack two of them into containers for work, and then drive 25 miles to the gym. Then off to work for another twelve hours. Everything is hurried (except the twelve hours at work) and it is hard to take much pleasure in the day.
My first day off though? That was today, and it was my Me day. And my endurance day.
Got to the gym around 4:00 PM, stretched and jumped up on the dreaded, hated, feared StairMaster for 30 minutes and supposedly climbed 75 floor. Then there was an hour long, full body workout mixed between free weights and machines. Worked my upper body until my arms were jelly, then my lower body until my legs were quivering, then my core until my abs were trembling, and then start back over. Once that was done, I climbed onto the elliptical machine until I was empty. My mind, my muscles, my stomach. No set time to work for, just until I could not convince myself to do anymore. Today that was 16 minutes and 45 seconds with the incline set on 10, the resistance on 7 and 130-140 strides a minute.
After stretching I walked into the middle of a field of wispy wildflowers and sat down, listening to the wind and my headphones, letting the sun dry the sweat. My skin was gritty. Salty. Soon I was lying on my back looking up at a mesquite that wants to bloom so very badly. His buds were fat and bulging, ready to burst into a fan of light green. Nearly an hour slipped by as I was absorbed into the music, into the grass, into myself. No fixed thoughts, just letting the spring recharge. Maybe I'll ask to work medical all next week. Maybe I'll go backpacking Sunday. Maybe I'll fall asleep here and steal a march on the drive back in the morning. Maybe I'll ask Luna for some mp3s since she is creating music again. Maybe I'll keep going until I find the end. Maybe there is no end. Maybe I'll make Rowdy soup in the bathtub tonight to unknot these lumps of meat attached to my leg bones.
Finally the empty was filled with hungry.
The hungry was fed mexican food.
Now, I gotta go make some soup.
I've carved fifty pounds off my frame, and still have at least another fifty to go. Trudging up the side of Guadalupe Peak was a challenge that I passed, but in June when I try to climb the 13,141 feet tall Wheeler Peak I won't have boyhood dreams pushing me along when my legs turn to jelly. I have to turn as much of that jelly into corded strands of steel as possible. I can't train for how the altitude will affect me, but I can build up my heart, lungs and legs.
This means that during my work week I get little sleep during the day. I get home at 6:15AM after being at work for over twelve hours, wake up between 12:45 and 1:00 PM, cook my next three meals, pack two of them into containers for work, and then drive 25 miles to the gym. Then off to work for another twelve hours. Everything is hurried (except the twelve hours at work) and it is hard to take much pleasure in the day.
My first day off though? That was today, and it was my Me day. And my endurance day.
Got to the gym around 4:00 PM, stretched and jumped up on the dreaded, hated, feared StairMaster for 30 minutes and supposedly climbed 75 floor. Then there was an hour long, full body workout mixed between free weights and machines. Worked my upper body until my arms were jelly, then my lower body until my legs were quivering, then my core until my abs were trembling, and then start back over. Once that was done, I climbed onto the elliptical machine until I was empty. My mind, my muscles, my stomach. No set time to work for, just until I could not convince myself to do anymore. Today that was 16 minutes and 45 seconds with the incline set on 10, the resistance on 7 and 130-140 strides a minute.
After stretching I walked into the middle of a field of wispy wildflowers and sat down, listening to the wind and my headphones, letting the sun dry the sweat. My skin was gritty. Salty. Soon I was lying on my back looking up at a mesquite that wants to bloom so very badly. His buds were fat and bulging, ready to burst into a fan of light green. Nearly an hour slipped by as I was absorbed into the music, into the grass, into myself. No fixed thoughts, just letting the spring recharge. Maybe I'll ask to work medical all next week. Maybe I'll go backpacking Sunday. Maybe I'll fall asleep here and steal a march on the drive back in the morning. Maybe I'll ask Luna for some mp3s since she is creating music again. Maybe I'll keep going until I find the end. Maybe there is no end. Maybe I'll make Rowdy soup in the bathtub tonight to unknot these lumps of meat attached to my leg bones.
Finally the empty was filled with hungry.
The hungry was fed mexican food.
Now, I gotta go make some soup.
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