When I was a child, staying up all night was a Grand Adventure. Bravely facing the “witching hour”, scaring myself with old Vincent Price movies on the Late Late Show and anticipating the dawn.
In my late teens and twenties, staying up all night was a matter of course. Nightlife and cooler air, neon signs, halogen headlights were simply a fact of my existence. Daylight was reserved for those college classes that weren’t offered after the sun went down. The early classes were always the worst, and account for my GPA – no, really!
I now find myself deeply entrenched in the
Middle Ages. At this age, staying up all night is a form of punishment. Insomnia is akin to beating oneself with a hammer, without being able to pass out at the end.
I couldn’t sleep last night, for the first time in many years. I tossed, I turned, I got up and watched the Late Late Show (Vincent Price, but this one was just silly). I read and walked and kept one of the dogs awake talking to him, but I could NOT get to sleep. I finally, mercifully, was able to achieve self-shut-down. Twenty minutes before the alarm rang. I was an hour late this morning; a very inauspicious beginning to my day.
I have a meeting with one of my managers today. I am walking on the edge of a political razor blade at work (not of my own doing) and this manager is 3000 miles away. I have a two hour phone conference and haven’t slept. I was able to explain this to my other, local manager (the other side of the razor), and he’s all for me going home and getting the rest, God bless him, but I need to do the phone thing. I am relying heavily on the mute button. Snoring would definitely show a lack of proper interest!
I have been yawning incessantly; I have swilled a gallon of coffee; I have stood, stretched, walked and rubbed my eyes and yet, my fool body, now repentant from last night’s folly, is attempting to catch up on lost sleep by dozing in my cubicle at work.
When I drove interstate semi, I would keep myself awake at night by jabbing my leg with a pin. Remember that when you are being passed by a 40-ton rig. That was fifteen years ago. Since then, I’ve developed enough aches and pains (some cause by my truck-driving experiences) that I don’t need the pin to feel pain, and yet, the aches and pains and soreness that comes with the startling revelation “Oh, I haven’t been taking care of myself, have I? I’d better get into shape NOW”, aren’t keeping me awake either.
I am now doing 6 miles each day (10K) on the elliptical trainer at the gym. (In case the name elliptical doesn’t ring a bell, here’s a picture). The sad fact is, I’m probably going to go again today and take the very last of the energy I have left, and perhaps borrow a little more, and blow the whole thing on the trainer again.
In October, the valley has their annual Susan G. Koman Race for the Cure. This is a run to benefit breast cancer research and is one of the events in which my company participates. It’s a 10K run. I have never in my life ever been in any sort of run. Even as a child I refused to do anything related to track and field with the exception of football where I only had to stand and hold the line.
I don’t know if I am going to be able to pull it off or not, to tell you the truth, but I am seriously thinking of trying it.
Someone accused me of midlife-crises. Being poised in the middle of my life (assuming I make it to 88), I can see two things rather clearly:
1). Getting into shape for the first time in my life may be a “midlife thing”, but it beats toupees, convertibles and hideous clothing.
2). If I am going to make it to 88, I better start looking at taking a little better care of the body that’s gonna get me there.
Of course, the best thing I could do is get enough rest.
Sigh.
Blew that one already.
