Day 6.181 Watch TV?

Tuesday night.

I am done.

Three rides, 0530, 1500 & 1730.

I need some rest if I am going to repeat it again tomorrow.

On which I plan.

My weight is down and my power is up.

If it takes three a day to continue that trend, then…

By God that is what is going to happen.

I suppose this is another test of the emergency heart-beat system. I figure that if the new regulated rate can take what I dish out…

That is good news.

Meaning, that this will continue until further notice.

The 72 push-ups we did yesterday probably helps too.

I have no scientific explanation on which to speculate. This is all trial and error, hit or miss. I only get one shot at it. Today. Right fucking now.

I will push the limits and experience how far outside the comfort zone I am able to go.

What else am I gonna do?

Watch TV?

Day 6.180 Better Late than Never

Maybe it is simply that I am a slow learner.

How could it have taken me more than six decades to understand such an important fundamental concept?

I should have known this since, oh, maybe the Kennedy administration.

We were toting weighted backpacks this afternoon, part of Junior's training, and between my morning and evening spin sessions - part of my training - when I was blindsided by a nano-second of clarity. The proverbial lighting bolt between the eyes.  KA-POW!

I was happy.

The sun was shining, the skies a gradient of blue and bluer, birds were chirping away and every dog on our route was napping on the porch in their charge. My nephew was keeping a steady pace and all I had to do was walk.

Momentarily, I tried to remember what I should have been pissed off about, concerned over, anxious about or afraid of.

There were none to be found anywhere in the files of my internal storage. I searched them all.

And it's not that I don't give a shit, I do, I think it must be that the trauma, the deep questions regarding the three years of tests, diagnosis (at the end), procedures, ER visits, sale of house, loss of job, virtual bankruptcy and medication adaptation, is all done.

I can't change anything. It is, as we say, in the books. (I do, however, still long for my former GF.)

There is nothing that I cannot deal with in the present moment. And I am choosing to deal with whatever comes down this path with awareness, compassion and joy.

The equation must look like this: A+C+J = H.

Where H stands for Happiness.

Are you serious?

I took me 60 years to figure that out?

Truly, it is better late, than never.

Day 6.179 The Rest of the Story

I don't need a day off.

I don't want a day off.

The thought of taking a day off makes me feel like a loser.

Taking a day off is weak.

I will HTFU.

Ouch.

I need a day off.

Day 6.178 Weird

Kinda weird?

All my dreams are way weird. Not kinda, sorta or maybe.

Way beyond weird.

After my meeting with the sleep experts Wednesday, I am now firmly in, as is my style, 'prove them wrong' mode.

Despite the medication induced trends of the last eight months, and the physical changes that brought them into reality, I steadfastly refuse to admit that I have depression, insomnia or sleep disorders of any magnitude.

And since I refuse to further tax my poor system with additional pharmaceuticals, this is going to be another process with which we must endure and adapt.

And we will.

Last night might have been a REM milestone. Allow me to explain.

I am entering a building out of the hot summer sun and into an air conditioned building that I recognize as my former office. I walk past the front desk where the receptionist looks at me like I might be an escaped criminal. I am naked with the exception of a pair of faded and torn Levis.

I get to my office and there is a football on my chair. I pick it up and play solo catch as I try to remember what it is that I do. I look for Bob, he will surely suggest that I get my lazy, iconoclastic ass back to work.

Down a dreary and cold concrete hallway I look into the many small rooms. I see Robert DeNiro talking to Lauren Bacall. We exchange glances and he gives me a Sicilian eyebrow of recognition and she just smiles. Instantly I feel 1000% better.

Down the hall Meg Ryan is wagging a finger near the chest of Nick Nolte. I think that this cold be good but need to find my answers, so I take my football on a slant towards the endzone.

In the third room Kiefer Sutherland is consoling Marisa Tomei. Although I know not of what the consolation is regarding, I sense that its importance is of immediate national security. I get the message loud and clear: NO NOT FUMBLE.

At the end of the hall I remember my job. I turn and begin to retrace my steps back to where I was before. The comfort, security and meaning of my job.

But the football is gone and I am riding my bike in Hawaii.

Weird.

Day 6.177 Doh!

Secretly, behind closed doors, and with extreme prejudice, they laugh.

At us.

PT and WC are rolling hysterically in their graves.

We fell for another one.

If it weren't so pathetic, if it wasn't for the loss of innocent lives and the pending dummy-down back-lash, I might chortle as well.

The GOP should be covertly funneling neatly bound wads of dough with the caricature of Obama's predecessors to an off-shore account in his name.

They have gamed us again, preying on our uncanny ability to be fooled again and again.

in a sub-plot worthy of 24, this is what really happened:

The masters of neocon capitalism won another round. The good-old boys are richer than ever, having created another layer of defense between the hapless 'free & brave' Americans, the former denizens of the middle class and their booty.

With a sleight of hand motion passing before our very weary eyes, in a room of smoke and mirrors, the deceit and subterfuge happened again.

They wanted another distraction. Don't look here lemmings, (war, corruption, scandal, oil, energy and environmental atrocities), look here non-voting but valuable spending multitudes, (legal pot, same-sex marriage, affordable (?) health care, shiny gadgets and an iPhone in every pocket) and be happy. Go to Wal-Mart and dance your fat ass up and down those skinny isles. Spend less- live more. OMG!

What a major victory!! Hurray for us!!!! A victory for Justice!!!! Raise the rainbow flag and lower the union jack, whoopee!

You think that Exxon-Mobil, Monsanto, AT&T, Koch Industries and Dick Cheney really care that you can now puff while holding hands in public and not get tossed into the big house with thousands of other dangerous enemy combatants of similar MO?

Look, I dislike the GOP as much as the next guy, but they orchestrated a masterful play here.

They picked our pockets once again. It was brilliant.

We have been played. Wait, where's my wallet?
 
Doh!

Day 6.176 The Shadow Never Sleeps

I am on the freeway heading to my appointment at the UW Medical Center.

I am on my Honda Shadow VT600. We are traveling at 55 miles per hour. The engine is running hotter than normal, I am hearing strange noises and consider, with a measure of paranoia, that they may be emulating from somewhere inside those 35.57 cubic inches I am sitting upon.

Not good.

I get to UW Med I find a free parking space that is 50/50 for getting a parking violation. Since I have no windshield wipers, I wonder where, should they decide to enforce the letter of the law, they will affix the citation. At the very least the time I will spend with the cardiology departments sleep abnormality clinic will give the motor a chance to cool.

The meeting is boring as hell. After an eight page questionnaire, the MD, a pleasant and trim man of about 40 with curly black hair matching in color his shirt and slacks, asks me some questions. His preface announced that he has read my file and would like to detail and isolate some specific areas as to how I spend each night, roughly from the time I go horizontal till the time I return to verticality.

OK, says I, shoot.

How do you sleep? Not very well, thank you.
Do you snore? I don't know, I don't think so. No one has ever accused me of it.
Do you sleep alone? Yes.
Do you exercise? Yes.
Do you drake alcohol? Yes.
Do you take drugs? Only the two prescribed by your colleagues down the hall.
What are they? (I thought you read my file) Warafrin and Amiodarone.
Nothing else? No.
Do you smoke? No.
Do you use marijuana? No, but I am thinking about testing. I used to be pretty adept at falling asleep while stoned.
When was this? In the 70s man.
How is your diet? I have been a vegetarian for twenty years. I recently began to eat fish again, salmon and tuna.
Does your family have a history of insomnia? I don't think so.
Do you get up at night for any reason? Yes. To pee.
Do you have trouble returning to sleep? No, this is a reprieve and the most relaxing time of the night.

OK, he says. We would like to do a sleep apnea test. Is that OK with you?

Yeah sure.

In the meantime please get more exercise, eat mostly veggies and cut back on alcohol consumption.

I resist a sarcastic remark, nod in approval and stand to say good bye. He seems pleased that our session was so productive.

I am walking back towards my bike wondering if there will be a ticket waiting, or worse, if it will even start.

No ticket and I see that the starter switch is stuck.

At least we got that fixed.

Day 6.175 A Box of Rats

I try to be safe when I ride my bike.

Commuting isn't racing.

There are rules. The rules are in place to protect the innocent.

And the stupid, inattentive and those under the influence.

I see this every day. The sheer volume raises the potential of disaster exponentially. I used to call this the rat-in-the shoe-box-theory.

One rat in the box is a pet. Two create issues, depending on the their gender. Three is a nightmare and any number more than three is total chaos with the odds of the immanent onset of war above 99%.

My rat-in-a-shoe-box theory was used to (sometimes) great effect when we were discussing (arguing) overpopulation and its causes and effects.

Now we are seeing the over populace spilling out and onto the streets.

Where we innocently ride our bikes, sharing the road (and cheese) with all the other rats in this non-race.

In order to do this successfully we, as unarmed, under protected, totally exposed and fragile homo-sapiens, must:

USE ALL AVAILABLE STRATEGIES, TACTICS AND RESOURCES TO STAY ALIVE.

We are out-numbered and outgunned. They have the advantage in every area.

But one.

We can be more aware. We can stay focused longer. We can take evasive maneuvers quicker. We can anticipate. We can defer. We can get the heck out of harm's way before it arrives. We must be smarter.

As much as I try to champion the combined assets of fitness and focus into our training, let me add one more: The better your ability to see 'the now' quicker and how it could catastrophically Rube Goldberg into your wheelhouse at the blink of an eye, and the better your physical ability (confidence) to take immediate evasive action, the better your chances.

Of getting out of the shoe box unscathed.