Day 5: I’ve clearly lost my mind
Ok — it was raining this morning at 6am, I slept in a little, until close to 6:30am (gasp!) — then got dressed so I could go and exercise. Clearly, something is just wrong with me — I woke up, in the dark, it was raining — and when I saw the rain, I opted for putting on my second set of warmup pants so my sweatpants wouldn’t get soaked while I rode my bike to the gym in the rain!!!
Well, thank God — my driveway was flooded, so I couldn’t reach the garage. I took the truck instead, and did my cardio on a recumbent cycle in the dry of the gym itself. Did a lightweight workout, raised most of my weights — and all was well.
I think easing off for the weekend, while good for my back (it healed, thank You, Jesus), I got my “fat and flabby” feeling and didn’t feel good.
So, I think I’ve lost my mind — I think I’d be happier working out at least a little every day. Is that nuts? Yes.
Happy Palm Sunday
I believe. It always begins with that; not necessarily even belief for an entire day – but the moment of possibility where you don’t definitely know – you just believe. That’s how you begin your voyage into a living relationship with Christ, and it’s the fact that He can build something from the smallest thread of belief that shows how powerful He truly is. I believe, it’s a surrender – and a new beginning.
Day 3: Endorphins = good… or “Exercise for the Lazy”
As I was doing my third set of Bulgarian split squats (which I will now lovingly call “endorphin bong hits”), I came to realize that yes, even a flabbahammer like me can get a quick and easy high by doing a proper exercise routine, with a blend of heavy muscle work and cardio. Granted, I’m only on day 3, but baby — I’m lovin’ it.
But I’m not just lovin’ it because I’m getting all stoned on endorphins (which, by the way — is awesome) … but I’m especially lovin’ it because I feel like I’ve found a secret path up the mountain for the lazy … I’m not into “feeling the pain” or any of that crap — but I’m also not into “doing too little” and seeing no results.
So in light of that — here are my first notes to myself about how to get started on such a laziness track:
Start Tiny
I tend to like to strut in, pick up the heaviest thing I can, and show that Greek chorus in my head that I’m rough and tough. The results of that tend to be one day of workout feeling buff, then four days of complaining and worrying about how I’ve broken all the meat on my body, then video games.
An alternative to that plan is to “scale back” to medium levels — some sort of pathetic mix of weight and ease that I think I can do and still hold my head up in the weight room. This tends to get me shaky at the end of my workouts — which leads to only two days of broken flesh worries, and then video games.
But instead — this time I went in with another frame of mind. You see, the reason I stack up, usually — is because of the opinions of other people in the gym. I’m so worried about someone looking over and thinking I’m (weak, out of shape, pathetic, etc.) — that I layer it on a little more.
Now, I’d love to say that nobody’s paying attention — but I think that’s a crock. Especially with guys — there are two classes of guy in the gym that I believe are likely checking me out while I do my tiny drills.
The first type is a guy I’ll call “Superman.” No, he’s not overbuff and unable to bend his arms — this is the guy who comes in and just makes such a massive show of his workout, that you kind of want to slap him. This particular guy (yes, we have a Superman at this gym), came in today, into the weight room, and did all sorts of reverse incline pushups, and deep balance knee bends, and single-foot lifts and stuff — all without any weights … just dancing around, showing off his flexibility and awesomeness to everyone (and taking up about three lifting stations to do it). You knew that he wanted to be seen, and in fact, he may end up in pain tomorrow and video games by Friday — but either way — he was a lot of show. This guy is the kind of guy who would look over at me if I was lifting under 100 and kind of pause and ask with his body language “why are you here?”
The other type is a guy I’ll call “the Grunter.” Now this is the guy who loads himself so hard that, by the end of his reps, he’s giving birth. He’s just gruntin’ that sucker out — pushing so hard, gonna get that last rep — can everybody hear me grunting? I’m workin’ it hard!
Now the Grunter will likely not approach me at first — but eventually, he’ll chat me up and try to talk me into doing super sets and incremental loads — he’ll extol the virtues of ripping the fibers and bulking the muscle. This guy isn’t sneering at me — he’s trying to draw me into his world. If my Bulgarian split squats are bong hits — this guy is a heroin user. He wants me to get hooked too and is disappointed when I don’t grunt.
Now faced with that, I tend to want to stack up, like I said. I tend to want to overdo it just a little bit, so these guys won’t sneer, or try to help me. But that stacking up always leads to video games — SOOOooo, to beat that, while still keeping my body on track — I went to “tiny” mode. Here’s my reasoning… using weights that are at the very bottom of your resistance, but not non-existent, shuts up all the voices in your own head, and deals with the Supermen and grunters in the room.
Take the barbell as an example. A naked bar weighs 45 pounds. That’s pretty darned light, but it has just enough tiny resistance that it’s not the same as me just pushing my hands up in the air over and over (what what?!!). This is a critical point — tiny means just the tiniest bit of resistance — not no resistance … no resistance is pointless and you end up just flopping around for weeks on end.
Now — here’s the great internal dialog that goes on. I get on the bench, do some military overhead presses with this tiny, naked bar. Anybody in the room could just look over and see “hey, that guy’s got no weight on his bar!” … but that’s exactly the point. A guy my size (or any size) that’s pushing a naked bar is either so seriously damaged that he’s in recuperation from the hospital or something — or he’s some sort of super lifter zen master who is doing a light series that Superman is too stupid to understand. So, I get on each machine, set it low, put on my ninja wizard face — and pump out my workout, totally content in the knowledge that these people “just don’t understand.” That’s the tiny way.
Do what you can, not what you want
This is my next aphorism — and it is much like the tiny way … but extended across time.
As a lazy person, I tend to want to “get it all done in a hurry.” So I find myself doing too many reps, too many sets, and over-doing it — which leads to video games. I start out at 10 reps — and before you know it, I’m into my fourth set of 10, and have become a grunter. So instead — I just do what I CAN, not what I want. I embrace my inner lazy. Once it feels like work — I stop. This also works for my bike as I ride to the gym.
Usually, when I get on my bike and head up a hill — it’s work. But recently, I’ve gone to setting the gears lower and lower until it’s that silly “spin fast, go slow” mode that hurts less, but takes longer. I embrace the lazy and refuse to work. I do what I can — not what I want.
Measure Everything
I tend to have a bit of a faster metabolism, I know — but I measure my weight, my reps, my time spent, my fat (I have a special scale) — I measure it all … not because I expect to see it all get better … but because there’s usually something that is better than yesterday. It might be that I finished my workout three minutes faster — so even though my weight went up — I’m in play and getting better. I ride 1 mile in each direction to the gym (believe it or not), and next I’m going to measure my speed in riding. There’s always something I can be watching that’s gonna look good — and I tend to just ignore the bad things anyway — so that works out pretty well.
Get into the Endorphins
Yes, I know I’ve mentioned endorphins — and yes, they’re fun. But the best is when I finish my workout — I go into the steam room and just lay there, spinning in my head — loving the feeling — just feeling good. Some people feel the burn and then move on. Me, I want to feel the “good” light headedness … to embrace that kick and have it be the natural payoff for the work. It makes me want more — which is good for my body and good for me.
So that’s day three … there’s plenty of days ahead — and God Willing… I’ll make it to the gym tomorrow, which is what I expect to do. Loving the feeling.
On the exercise crazy train (Day 1)
So, somehow, through a mystery of science or perhaps direct Divine intervention — I got up early in the morning at 6am (it’s a miracle!) — I got on my bike and it didn’t have a flat from being unused (it’s a miracle!) — I rode my bike in the early dawning hours to the gym (it’s impossible!) — and actually worked out (it’s gotta be a lie — say it ain’t so, Joe … say it ain’t so!).
Yes, I actually did.
My first favorite part of the pain was getting up. That was awesome. I went to bed just a little after midnight — set my alarm for 5:45, because I’m damaged in the head, and slept for a minute. When the alarm went off — Kathy, who has gotten up first for our entire marriage — was reluctantly halfway out of bed by the time I came out of my stupor and muttered something like, “Gnnnarnrrll — no, it’s mine, not yours, go back bed now do.” (Presumably, she did just that, it was dark, I was having brain pain, and frankly, was too busy remembering how to get my feet into my fuzzy slippers to actually notice anything as insignificant as the well-being of my spouse).
So — having finally gotten semi-vertical, I thanked God for the day (which is a good practice, btw — though I must admit, I was feeling like asking Him to just keep it anyway) — and trudged to the bedroom door.
This would be the time that normal people pour a cup of coffee — but, it being Lent and all, I’m caffeine-free … so, I had the unique and mystical privilege of standing in the morning with no caffeinated parachute — just me, my grimace, and God. I’ve been getting up earlier (on purpose) ever since I got back from Africa — and actually enjoying it — but this one, well … this was the real meal deal, ya know? I wasn’t just getting up, I was getting up to exercise — like all those (shudder) morning people. Normally, I’ve been getting up early to read my Bible, send emails, badger Facebook, and then wait for the office to start — but this time, it was 100% full contact morning patrol.
Ironically, my friend Brett had mentioned that he was coming by around 6am to pick up a hard drive (which I’d left by the door in a baggie, in case I didn’t want to do this). In the email the night before, I’d told him I didn’t have a problem with that (because I get up earlier now anyway), and casually mentioned that I was headed to the gym, so I’d likely see him. This, of course, enabled me to activate at least one wake-up support system in place of the missing caffeine — yes, that’s right — the all powerful “casual pride” mechanism.
This is the mechanism that gets you dressed and strolling around like nothing’s new when in fact you’re really trying to remember why your feet are all the way down there. This is the mechanism that has you turn on a whole bunch of lights and already be in your exercise clothes by the time he gets here, so you can look cool. This is the mechanism that has you actually change your exercise clothes because you realize that you look too sleepy in this outfit. Yes — the “oh, no… I’m already awake” mechanism was in full swing by the time Brett arrived.
I gave him the hard drive and (since I’m awake already, after all) gave him a ride to the ferry.
When I got back home, I opened the garage door, put on my bike helmet (that’s a very weird thing to put on prior to the dawn, btw), and headed out. Here I go! All excited and being a good boy! Woohoo, I’ve got energy, the sky is slightly lighter, I’m headed uphill, but feeling good about it, turning the corner and … oh … my … GOD it’s cold. I mean, it’s COOOOLD. I literally started this mantra:
“ungh… ungh… ungh… arg…”
while I rode my bike closer and closer to Puget Sound. You know Puget Sound? Where the ferry is? That’s right — I opted to RIDE A BICYCLE in basically polyester workout pants right next to the OPEN SEA… before dawn… ungh… ungh… ungh… arg…
Well, as I turned the corner and realized I had another eighth of a mile of this, I encouraged myself by remembering that at the end of this bike ride was a series of exercises … that’s motivating, right? I mean — (ungh… ungh… ungh… arg…) — when I get there, I’ll be happy — I’ll get into this … this is a good thing, right?
Once I passed the portion of my morning that involved riding virtually naked past the chill night air of the open sea, I rolled into town, with the high hope that I would somehow feel less cold because there were buildings there to wrap around my semi-flash frozen body … well, it seems that buildings don’t exude as much warmth and comfort as a blanket in the morning (oh, I remember you, my friend, my warm blanket in bed — I miss you) and so I spent the rest of my ride just numb. But then I reached my destination — hurray! Oh God. It’s a gym.
I walked in, semi-stupid from the chill, the dark, the lack of sleep — but the guy behind the counter was moving around a lot, facing me, smiling and talking — my brain stem kicked in and realized, much in the way a semi-frozen drown victim realizes that’s actually a helicopter, that this man was going to help me — that he had ideas, and plans that involved me, and that I should rely upon him for my well-being… I believe it involved a towel and a locker key.
Wandering away, I headed to the locker room, opened the locker, and put my jacket and bike helmet (what an odd thing to be holding this early in the morning) into the locker. I’d have put MORE into the locker, but well, I was only wearing a t-shirt, hoodie, and my polyester workout pants, so I just dutifully put the towel in the locker (that’s why he gave it to me, right? So I could carry it to the locked container and put it in there?) … and turned to the only thing that made sense in my life at that time: my iPhone.
Originally, I’d planned to put on my headphones (included in my pocket), but the reality is that the early morning stupor high makes the music that pipes in from the ceiling (I think I heard some Earth Wind and Fire?) almost palatable… but even though I had no need for the music — I’ve got an app … it’s called “iFitness” and it has actual workouts in it (with 230 different exercises lined up, with video, logs, the whole thing).
Now, normally when I come to a gym, I tend to approach it much in the same way that I approach mental exertion — start at the hardest and push. But, well, my muscles aren’t as smart as my brain — so when I usually take that approach — it results in something like: “It’s tomorrow, I hurt my everything, I quit.”
So this time, I chose the manly workout routine named “Beginner’s Workout.” For the record, and for my own testosterone-laden pride, I actually have worked out before regularly — so no, I’m not a COMPLETE flabb-a-hammer … but I figured, if I was gonna make this work, I was gonna take it nice and easy. The fact that they have a picture of a little kid picking up a dumbbell on this workout made me realize I had nothing to dread.
One of my favorite moments was when my iPhone told me I needed to do some triceps extensions, and showed me the triceps extension machine exercise. Now you need to understand that I’m in a gym… I’m flexing my full fake — I’m acting like I know what I’m doing — and I’m committed to keep my “I know what I’m doing” face on even if it bleeds. Don’t want the people knowing I’m just a geek who doesn’t exercise — it’s all casual — I’m supposed to be here, right? But for the life of me, I couldn’t find the triceps extension machine.
Dread. That’s the ultimate fear, isn’t it? To end up leaning your gangly flabb-a-hammer arm on a machine and nonchalantly ask “hey, man, where’s the ‘ceps extension machine’?” and get the answer “you’re leaning on it, geek.” Well … that’s the fear, but that didn’t happen.
I got to go up to the desk and ask where the triceps extension machine was… and I was informed they don’t have one … sweet. Now I can activate my nonchalance to afterburner levels. First, my eyes must say something like “How could they NOT?!! Who ever heard of a gym that doesn’t have a triceps extension machine? Don’t they all? I’m aghast … madness I tell you, madness.” … and then my mouth says, “Oh — hnh.” … and they scramble to tell me other exercises I can do, like the triceps rope pulldown (which is what I did). But suffice to say — the bubble was burst — they are merely human like me — they aren’t secretly sneering at me for trying this out — and well … they actually seem kinda nice. Good moment during my workout.
Meanwhile, during all of this early morning workout stuff — it’s quiet. I mean like you can hear people breathing quiet. It’s kinda cool. There are only a few people in each area, and they’re all basically ignoring each other — and the cheesy music is playing in the background (is that Stevie Wonder?), and it’s kinda nice. So I’m there, having a pretty good time, actually — when all of the sudden, some woman starts talking and talking and talking and making noise and being loud. I mean, she’s just jabbering away … and I realize it’s a trainer talking to a client.
I also realize that it just became 7am. That’s when the “humans” arrive … the people who want to talk, and compare, and share their experiences with each other … the “morning people” are invading… thankfully I’m just about done… so I wrapped up, did a little stretching (that’s where the older people hang out, the stretching room), headed to the lockers and thought about getting in the steam room, but that was too complicated (should I have swim trunks, if I don’t will people call the police, etc.)… so I opened my locker, got my thin hoodie, my slightly less weird bike helmet, and my unused towel, walked up to the front and dutifully returned the towel to the confused guy behind the counter (“hey man, thanks for lettin’ me hold that, Peace out.”).
One more frigid ride (in the midst of ferry traffic … mmmm… I loves me some car exhaust) … and I’m home. Kathy’s dropping off Nate, and I’m way way way up on that “I’ve done all this before 9am” high (an Army of One). I realized I hadn’t done my push-ups (another app on the iPhone, frighteningly named “100 Push-ups”), so I did those and then was just about wasted. Got into the shower, headed off to coffee with my Pastor (I didn’t have any, he did), and onward. My body currently agrees with me that this is a good idea — I believe I will do it again tomorrow. Madness. I feel like I’m in a body-snatcher movie or something… and I want to get there early enough to work out in the quiet with all the other skulkers… it’s haaaappening…
Spread your wings and fly
So — tough day. I’m sitting on the ferry, punchy and listening to tunes while I watch the gray light of the sun cut through the clouds of the day, spreading light into every drop of water that splashes on the glass and into the sea — and I just know it’s ok. I’m watching this bird fly, and well — it doesn’t need to worry about the wind’s permission, it just trusts and floats — yeah, I’m waxing poetic, but you know what? Right now, right this very moment? The sun is so bright, I’m wearing sunglasses — everything’s ok.
Staring at Infinity
So I’ve been back for a week or so now, gotten the cold I was glad not to get when I was in Africa, and basically turned into a big bag of lazy goo for a few days (even though I went into the office almost every one of those days).
Everybody’s telling me to “write about it” — about all the things that are happening in my head (like a better understanding of Love (capital L), a clearer sense of purpose for the teachings, a longer question about whether I’ll go back to Africa any time soon) — and I’ve been waking up in the AM really early and liking it (which is insane).
But I just don’t really have anything to say, you know? I’m in the midst of living it — I get up, I read the Bible, I sit and stare for a while, I go on Facebook, I make my calls, check my emails, read my books, fix my computers, go to the office, come home, call friends, and then — I’m here again.
I’m trying to decide if that’s a good thing — and frankly, I think it is. I like that I’m just staring — that I don’t have my “crazy on” about the task lists that badger me and make me feel lethargic … I’m glad that my back feels better (which was a real Blessing from the Lord in Africa), and I’m glad that I’m kinda free … ya know?
But when you’re right there, on the bubble, feeling good — what’s there to write about? A long post about warm fuzzies? Meh.
So well — right now — I’m just sitting and soaking in it … maybe it’s a time of rest — and I’m grateful for it. So maybe that’s what I’m gonna say — to everyone … if you find yourself feeling slightly bored — or like you don’t have anything to do … is that so bad? Can you just sit with yourself for a minute and enjoy it? I’m trying to — and so far, so good.
Love
“Yes, but why did you travel across the world to talk to these people?“
“I love them.“
“But you’ve never met them.“
“Doesn’t matter.“
“You paid for the whole thing yourself?“
“Yep, didn’t matter — I love them.“
“But how can you love them, you don’t even know them? You don’t know their lives. You don’t know anything but the few days you met. How can that be?“
“I know them now. I know they love me, too.“
“It doesn’t make any sense.“
“Is it supposed to?“
“Yes! Everything must make sense … to our five senses, to our logical minds. Why would you do that? Was it for the adventure?“
“Love told me to.“
“What does that mean? Love told you to? That doesn’t make any sense. Love doesn’t talk.“
“Yeah He does.”
You’re either a leader or a follower. If you don’t know that you’re the leader, you’re a follower, and that’s ok. But if you’re a follower and you don’t know what you’re following, then you don’t know what runs your life. At some point, you have to choose.
I serve God. I do what He says. I’m glad I’m living the life I am. Are you?
1John 4:8
Heathrow Police
SOOOooo…
Since my life is never boring, I decided to head out of the Yotel and try to upgrade our tickets (which was impossible — they could let me purchase new tickets for $3k, but that’s just lame). So, I took a bus from Terminal 4 to Terminal 5 (wearing only a t-shirt because I’m a big he-man American), and went up to the top floor of T5. Once there, the woman behind the desk informed me that I can’t get an upgrade — and that she was sorry (that seems to be the standard approach for British Airways in Heathrow).
I wandered off, thinking about maybe going to get some Krispy Kreme Donuts (which are on the ground floor of T5). As I’m wandering, I notice a few uniformed people talking to a smallish African man, there are at least two men in uniforms, and one woman — the woman is leading the show (and sounding a little bossy). She says, “…were they going to meet you here?”
I ignore it for the most part and head for the “lift” (because I’m on the Isle of Fear in the house of George Orwell in Great Britain, it’s called a lift). So the elevator comes, and I get on with one other traveler, a woman. The little African dude comes to the elevator and tries to get on, looking kind of frightened and sheepish … the crowd of security guards surround him, and one of them steps into the door of the elevator, telling him, “you’re not going anyway, Mate, because I’m standing in the door, so you might as well get off.”
At that point, since I’m on the lift, I figure it’s time for me to get off, so I step through the joy fest, pat the door blocker dude on the shoulder and head for the hills.
I headed for the other elevator, and watched as the little guy walked away, trying to walk (not run, not fight) down the up escalator, while the guards watched him with a bemused expression. At this point, they’d told him they were calling the Police.
So, I get on the other lift, head down to the donut shop and order a chocolate-glazed creme-filled donut. The guy behind the counter asks if I want anything to drink, so I ask if there’s chocolate milk — he says no, but they have a “chocolate chiller” — which is some sort of mystical milk-shake product. I order that, pay with my credit card and wait for my “chiller.”
A few minutes later, the guy comes by and tells me they don’t have the cream for the chiller, sorry … so I order 3 more donuts instead (an original glazed, a raspberry glazed, and a chocolate cake glazed). Then I started feeling guilty (ok, I had been feeling pretty guilty for a while, but it finally hit me at that point). I realized that this little guy is likely going to get scooped up by the great system of fear and “processed” before he has a chance to defend himself. That made me a little sick to my stomach.
So I threw up a quick prayer, and God told me to get on a specific elevator. I headed for that elevator, and just as I arrived, the doors opened — so that seemed at least thinly confirming. Onto the elevator I get, justifying the trip back to the fifth floor as a visit to see if I could move my seat at least, since I couldn’t upgrade.
I get there, and lo and behold, they’ve got the guy in handcuffs. There’s a small crowd of people around him, and he’s just looking like one sad dude.
I head over there — watch what’s happening … and finally say to one of the Police holding him, “Officer, can I say something?”
The cop didn’t want me too close (understandable), so I stepped back and a “Police/Community liaison” person came and started talking to me.
Long story short, they took my statement about the entire thing — my sense that he wasn’t a trouble-maker, that he was just a confused African that was trying to get away when things went haywire.
At one point the Officer holding him made a big show of talking into his walkie-talkie to declare what he was alleged to have done (“big show” isn’t the right term, he was a cool enough cop, but my point is that he was likely saying this all so I’d know what was up). It seems that they were under the impression that this guy stole a passport and was trying to get to the “air side” of the airport (through security) using the passport. The officer said into his mike “in the interest of Justice, we should have a CCTV review as well to confirm.”
Well — anyway — another officer came and took my statement — I told them what I’d seen, they had no problem coming to take the report — I kept apologizing for wasting their time. I chatted with the cop who took my statement, he was very diplomatic … the whole group of people were very non-confrontational, very sedate about the handling of the whole thing. Not sure if my statement amounts to much value for the guy — but at least someone in the world knows he was taken away — which may keep him from becoming an “un-person.”
In the tinfoil hat category, while I was sitting next to the Officer, giving my statement, two younger people (maybe mid-thirties playing as if they were late twenties) came and sat right next to me on the other side. The girl was talking about getting high, and chattering on and on about inane things regarding her passport and other such nonsense … but something in my head made me think that these two were a fake — I dunno — maybe I’ve seen too many movies and needed more sleep.
On a goof, just to toss a pebble, I turned towards them, not to them — just in their general direction … in a way that could easily be construed as me just muttering something under my breath and said, “spies like us…”
They never spoke another word. Funny, that.
Well — that was my layover in Heathrow — never a dull moment with Malcolm, huh?
Out of Africa
We’re in the Yotel in Heathrow now. The last day in Africa was a little intense — lots of adversarial attack.
The flight was good — we got to Nairobi airport and asked about upgrades. The woman first said that it would be $300 per person per leg (for a total of about $1200). We asked if there was any sort of deal we could do … and she came back and said that “if we paid cash” they could likely book us upgraded for $500 per person.
I immediately pointed out that we’re Christians and asked if this was on the up and up. She looked at her computer and mentioned that she’d need to talk to the supervisor again (who, presumably, was the source of the “cash discount”). She came back and said that the flight was overbooked, so we’d likely be upgraded anyway — and booked us into Business class “pods” — which were great for getting some sleep (they recline completely like a bed).
We made it to Yotel — it was a little bumpy (wifi issues, room style errors) — but nothing dramatic. I’m currently here in the Yotel room, enjoying the High Speed Internet and gathering my thoughts about Africa.
I know I didn’t post as much as folks might have liked, and I expect Brett was just posting all the time (he spent a lot of time in his room with his computer) … but I’m going to try to do a big “wrap up” on the whole thing in a day or so. There was SO much … and sadly, a great deal of it wasn’t stuff I can discuss online (Missions touched on a LOT of political things — which wouldn’t be kosher to discuss here) … but overall — it was great. I’m going to try to make it up to everyone by getting videos online, the operative word being “try” (they’re HD videos) … but I’m doing that from home with the “good” computer, not the itsy bitsy laptop.
God Bless, all — it’s been a real Blessing to receive all your prayers! Can’t wait to be home in a few hours (God Willing)!