Catching a Break

Okay so I haven't evolved; aside from pushups I get virtually no exercise unless you count when I have to run dragging my kid to his bus stop so he doesn't miss the bus again.

I have adjusted the schedule. This should count for something in the planning & management department.

After doing the math again it occurred to me that doing 1,000 pushups every three days gets me to 10,000 for the month, which is the ongoing goal. So do 350 a day and I'm covered right? Well yes, but I recently also realized how cool it is to be dragging my butt down the stairs to the kitchen to try to get my son fed and readied in time for the bus and suddenly think 'Hey, no pushups today!'

If you can't relate to this, substitute the word pushups with 'work' or 'wife'.

So now I make it a point to crank out 500 or more pushups two days in a row, then take a day off. The results have been unbelievable! With regular days of rest and recovery my pecs are now busting out of my shirt, and because of this people come up and give me free stuff on the street, chicks dig me (even more), book sales are up, I've got more friends and followers than ever and I just won Powerball.

Okay maybe not. But the days off are still nice.

Time to Evolve?

No this is not me. Yet.

While doing push-ups has become part of the routine, I still think every morning: 'Maybe not today...'

Soon enough I start feeling guilty and hit the floor.

But lately I've begun thinking: 'Maybe mix it up a bit...' This post might be a start.

Short month - didn't even have the extra day like last year - but cranked out enough in the last week to pass 10,000...almost comfortably.

Here we Go Again...

Maybe I missed it after doing next to nothing once I reached the 100,000 mark.

Maybe I needed a way to keep myself warm in my chilly house. (Why do people still heat with oil? Stuff's expensive.)

Maybe I'm bored. (Nope, not with a half dozen writing projects and three young kids to manage.)

Maybe I suddenly began feeling lazy. (Closer to the mark, methinks.)

Or maybe I have this deep-seated need to punish myself, to attempt to make up in some karmic way for certain things I've done.

Whatever the reason, on January 1st I started in with the pushups again. After a short two-week hiatus I could feel my strength had abated somewhat, instilling in me a mix of despondence and disconcertment.

After a month of few particularly high daily totals and even fewer days of doing nothing, I've hit 10,000. Who knows what the year will bring; maybe I need a bigger reason this time around than 'just to do it.'

Or maybe I should go see a shrink.

Looking Back, Looking Ahead

Well that's a wrap.

Totally slacked off once I reached my goal, and though I didn't miss it, something did seem to be missing.

I remember the day I committed to this. I remember that night even more clearly - because I could barely sleep. Part was excitement; I had just put myself out there and told the world (the tiny tiny portion that was listening) that I was going to do it. This was meant to motivate me to keep going, because I know more than a few people who would really let me have it if I gave up somewhere along the way. Part of it was also fear - stemming from the same source as my motivation. Honestly, I had no idea what I was in for.

For a while I went at it with a kind of purity. I'd do each pushup in good form; I'd do some with my feet elevated to make it a little tougher; every set would be a workout - no quick and easy sets of 20 just to get a few more out of the way. Time passed, as did that freak pain in my arm in March, and the adrenalin of excitement morphed into the mentality of duty. Further down the road the routine devolved into just that. It was just something I did in spare moments on most days.

I'd liken my pursuit of 100,000 pushups to many undertakings that extend over time. A job. A relationship. Writing a book. The excitement is there at the outset (well maybe not always with the job). After a while it gets comfortable; you know how to work it and what to expect. From there it becomes part of the daily routine, and this is where things get sketchy.

Breaking the Tape (without breaking my back).

An Inglorious Ending. But maybe not really the end.

Check out the unimpressive moment below.

Thank you to my kids for their wonderful assistance.

Coasting Toward The Finish Line...

By the beginning of October I was so used to hitting the floor – or the grass, or the dirt or the sand of the playground – that not only did five hundred pushups in a day seem little more than thoughtless routine, doing anything less sometimes seemed a vacation - though much more often by evening I felt the day, at least in one respect, had been an unproductive waste.

I wouldn’t have been able to conceive of such a mindset back in March. Six months later it had become just another way of looking back on my day. I guess this is the sort of paradigm shift that comes with going for a goal that seems, at the outset, barely possible.

Good thing I was able to reach that point, because in mid-October my pace came to a screeching slow-down. The new job had me up at six and out the door thirty minutes later – enough time, barely, to squeeze two sets of fifty in between hyperactive mouthfuls of granola. I’d get home around seven-thirty or so, just in time to help the wife get the kids bathed and into their pajamas, and after a couple stories and some stern pleading to go to bed already I’d have another hundred pushups in me. Maybe.

In November I managed a third of what I’d done in previous months. Still, that left me with having to do all of two thousand more to make it to the finish line.

We are now into December. I’ll get there in the next couple of days. Then maybe I’ll figure out what it all means.

That's Right Just Play Around Me

When I embarked on this silly adventure back in February my kids thought it was absolutely hilarious. So of course they wanted in on the fun, jumping on my back or my legs as if daddy wanted nothing more than to play horsie a hundred thousand times. Get...OFF!... I admit I wasn't a good father about it.

Then they started imitating me, getting down on the floor - often so close we'd bump heads (Get...a-WAY!...) - so I'd begin doing these kind of diagonal pushups so I could continue on, determinedly-uninterrupted. It didn't occur to me to just move over a foot.

When we weren't cracking skulls they'd be just far enough away so I could see them out of the corner of my eye, and I'd collapse to the floor in grudging, unstifle-able laughter. Have you ever watched a two-year-old try to do pushups? I could close my eyes - actually I tried it - but the image was there in my head from the first time and my kid's own loopy laughter would set me off and my arms would give out under me. I wished they would cut it out.

Now it seems I got what I wished for.

The novelty of me doing pushups, and of them doing them next to me, has worn off. They still gravitate toward me when I hit the floor, but now they just want to play with their trucks and cars and trains around me. 'Tunnel!' my younger son shouts as he sends one toy vehicle or another flying across the floor under my stomach. Or into my ear. My older son has taken to stepping over me to continue with whatever he's into in the moment.

Even my wife has stopped breathing through her nose at me when I'm grunting through a set while our baby daughter is crying her head off somewhere.

For better or for worse, they all now know where daddy's priorities lie.

Cranking them out these days, what with the impending job about to cut into my schedule.