Something to push against

The author at the gym
Image: Huff
Person in the Image: Huff

Yeah that’s me and no I’m not doing Bane cosplay. It was just the best flu mask I could find before I headed to the gym.

After I had COVID earlier this year something went to work in my brain. Something that’s always been part of me. Best example: Sophomore year in college, late spring, and we were all dreading Music History. That was next up, all junior music majors required to take it. A band guy, brass player whose name I’ve forgotten but I still remember he looked like the Big Boy restaurant mascot but with serial killer glasses and a cheesy ‘stache, looked at me with a serious expression and said, “Don’t worry about Professor Olsen’s class”—the name of that year’s music history prof—“No one passes it the first time.”

The guy wasn’t being a jerk. He was sincere. Yet some alchemy just happened to take place in my brain right then, some combination of moment, mood, mindset. I said, “No one? Ever?”

”Far as I know.”

I took that as a personal challenge. Something to push back against.

Here is the silliest part: I was generally not a great academic student. I majored in music, vocal performance, and I lived for being onstage. I memorized my music early and diligently, always fulfilled my obligations as a singer to the hilt. But a lot of the academic side of music bored me. I was a low B student, basically.

Yet I decided then and there to be one of the best scholars Professor Olsen ever lectured, with his permanent handkerchief held to one side of his permanently leaky left nostril. I did it in anger. I was mad that anyone would dare lump me in with the masses of students in previous years and in years to come.

Junior year rolled around. I was in the class with two of the smartest people I knew, the woman to whom I was engaged at the time and the woman I would break up with her for and end up married to for 8 years. (I get horny for brainy people but refuse to ever use a term like “sapiosexual,” it just sounds…pathological.)

Both young women (52 and 54 today) were dedicated students in general and both were superb writers with razor-sharp, incisive minds. Both had already helped me limp through previous courses we took together. I feel bad about that today but at the same time, it would be 10 more years before I was diagnosed with ADHD.

I did not feel competitive, exactly, with either, but I did decide I would make better grades in this famously writing-heavy music history course than they did. On one hand, I look back today and that’s totally manic. An observer who knew all three of us might have laughed if I’d said that out loud.

I proceeded to do exactly that. At the end of junior year, Professor Olsen told me I was “the most incisive historical mind” he’d taught there, one of the finest writers, and cut out to practice law (he was, oddly, also an attorney). He had no idea what a shitty student I’d been and would be again in the future. And he might have been right about the law, I wondered myself. But just opening the LSAT study book made my eyes cross, so maybe not.

Anyway, I’m indulging myself here, but there is a point—I have frequently shocked myself by accepting a challenge no one even issued just to prove I can conquer it if I want. I remember every one, but the story of music history is the one that I often reflect on.

Sometimes I think catching COVID hit me a bit like that brass player’s laconic challenge. I came out of it saying to myself that I would respect the fact I survived the virus by completing a mission I began in earnest at 44: Making my aging body as ironclad as possible against whatever aging and life throws my way. I don’t have the natural energy to try and get superhuman with it, but now I feel like I did heading into that first history lecture junior year: weirdly assured I can accomplish the vaguely ridiculous goal I have in mind.

I don’t reject aging, that’s not it at all. In fact, since I turned 40 aging has been kind of, well, fun sometimes. I joke about it, but the truth is, I’m strangely proud of already making it this far.

That is, making my body “ironclad” isn’t about reversing the clock of my skin, fading spots or filling wrinkles. It is about making the man the age I am now as strong as he can be.

Lord willing and the creek don’t rise, I may get there.

Exercise and related annoying stuff

Running is fun for everyone, even little sign guys.
Running is fun for everyone, even little sign guys.

To make this blog what I want it to be I have to admit a desire to occasionally write about things that may be of little interest to some. Any blog is going to have that but I’m in the process of changing my mindset about this kind of endeavor. It’s called Writing Whatever the Hell I Want to Write and You Can Read it or Not.

In this case, the subject is physical fitness. I’ve battled my weight since I can remember. When I backed away from just blogging about crime in 2009, a few years spent parked at a computer seemingly nonstop had assisted me in ballooning to almost 300 pounds, with a 46-48 inch waistline. Since 2011, when I finally got truly sick of the situation (my insanely high blood pressure helped me get there) I’ve lost over 100 pounds of fat, dropped 16 or so inches from my waist and gained about 20 pounds of muscle. I did that by making diet and exercise a vital, central part of my daily life. I’ll never go back, either. I know that because every time I skip a day running or working out–or both–I get a junkie’s knee-shake and have trouble sleeping. Exercise feels good, it’s a habit, and I love it.

What I really discovered, which I didn’t know as a kid (I thought I’d conquered childhood weight issues in my teens, when I ran and worked out almost daily, but back then I did not do it in the wisest or safest way), is that it’s easy to, I don’t know, turn into kind of a geek about fitness. There is much more to just about any fitness pursuit as well as to nutrition and dieting than I’d ever dreamed of. Realizing how deep and complex the subject was, realizing that I could nerd out about it–this may have contributed heavily to me sticking with everything until certain good practices became habitual.

So–I’m gonna write about it. What I write may be–especially if you’re the increasingly rare reader who liked and followed my crime writing (which I haven’t totally abandoned, don’t worry)–boring as hell to you. If so, skip it.

And I wrote this post tonight because my plan was to write about my workout and I ended up concluding I wouldn’t work out because I’ve had some muscle strain that I should be a little careful with.

Honestly, the workout would’ve been more interesting. Either way, I’m gonna talk about jock-y stuff and if you see the fitness tag and that’s not your thing, just skip the post and weight for the “crime” tag to pop up.