Generally speaking, my go to solution to stressful times falls into one of two categories; alcohol or sweat. I started drinking too much after I retired, and while that wasn’t what landed me in the hospital with diverticulitis, it likely didn’t help anything. After getting out of the hospital I went back to work, knowing whatever I was stupid enough to do, drinking on a construction project would never be on the list.
The plague kept me from going to a gym, kept me out of Yoga classes, and kept me from finding a way to work out the way I really need to, except in the yard, which isn’t a bad work out. The stress going on right now is greater than my fear of the plague, so away I went, and I joined a gym.
It’s a huge spacious thing, with high ceilings and an enormous open space. I’m not sure about their marketing strategy, because to pay for this thing they’ve got to get a hell of lot of people in that building, but it may work. I’ve had both my plague shots, ought to be fairly safe, so in I went, and away with sloth and alcohol.
My first Yoga class was both painful and embarrassing. I have more work to do than I thought I did. Positions that once came easy are now impossible. There’s another class today, and I’m going in for more punishment.
I put five miles on a treadmill listening to Yes, and Taylor Swift. It was a slow affair, no more than a fast walk, but I needed to put myself in motion for a while, to walk the way I once could, for periods of time that made a difference. I miss walking for long periods of time in the woods and on the road. I miss being in shape.
Things here at home are like being in a wind tunnel with an Exlax experiment going on above, with outhouses lined up to dump through the ceiling. I can honestly say that what is happening in my life right now confounds me. I have no answers because there are none. I have no solutions because there are none. I am not doing the right thing because there is nothing to do that will make a difference.
I get into a groove on a treadmill, or in a Yoga class, and for an hour, or even more, there’s music and pain and a box where the outside doesn’t exist for a while.
Outside again, I do the things I have to do, and hope they make a difference, and I hope that when all of this is over, I don’t have to lift a lot of regrets from my heart or soul. This is the long haul of adulting, the thing you can’t prepare for, the stretch of road where any breakdown will put you in the middle of nowhere without a spare.
After a certain period of time with nothing but bad news, the reality of the situation sinks in, and you stop thinking there will be a positive outcome.
Mike writes regularly at his site: The Hickory Head Hermit.
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