Fitness is a family effort

Lately (as in, about the last five years), I've noticed a little bit of a paunch in my mid-section. In fact, it's gotten a bit alarming. When one finds himself short of breath after tying his shoes, there's a problem. Or if, on your way up your condo's stairs on your way to pick up ice cream and beer, you give yourself a sweat stain on your back, it might be time to re-evaluate some habits. I used to be able to blame it on the humidity of the mid-Atlantic region, but, uh, it's actually been very nice lately.

So, I once again resolved to get back on my bike ride routine. I'd been thinking about it for weeks, really trying to figure out why this is so damn hard. Here were some of the obstacles as I saw them:

The bike is in the closet buried under a telescope, workout ball, some shelves (another neglected project), bike rack (ironically) and Christmas supplies. Getting it out would be a major pain. Might as well just make myself a gin & tonic...

My schedule is just too chaotic. What with a 9-to-5 job, another business I'm trying to start up, and of course, a new child and still shiny new wife, I just don't have the time. Might as well order pizza and hang out with the family after work...

My prayer life has been sorely neglected. Hey--get your priorities straight! What's more important, prayer or looking good for pool-time? Since I recently started the Liturgy of the Hours, which takes up a not-insignificant amount of time, I've struggled to squeeze it in somewhere. Trying to bike on top of that? No way. I'm just going to watch a couple of shows before prayer...

And so on. I have a million of them, although very few could withstand being spoken aloud. And, I quickly discovered, eliminating TV pretty much breaks the bonds of procrastination.

The family helps, too, in loving and not-so-loving ways.

Yesterday when I got home from work I discovered my bike perched outside the front door on the partially reassembled bike rack. For a moment I wondered if I really did have powers of telekinesis. I tried another mind experiment, but when I opened the door, no, my wife wasn't scantily clad sitting atop a pile of clean, non-sequential $100 bills. Dang.

So, I laid out all of my workout clothes before I went to bed, set the alarm for 5:45, and had a man-to-man with myself.

"Self," I said, "You know and I know that there's probably a 5% chance of actual bike riding tomorrow morning, but let's at least consider this a baby step."

"Self," I replied, "That's pansy talk. You go nigh-nigh now, and I'll go find your balls."

"Fair 'nuff," I said, and hit the hay.

Approximately two hours later, someone, perhaps a third self working in collusion with my first self, reached into my guts, grabbed, twisted and pulled, leading to an extended visit to the bathroom.

"Well, self," I said, "Looks like that blows my early morning plans. There's no way I'll be able to get up and ready to ride in time. Oh well, we tried."

"We'll see about that, Nancy," Self said.

At 5AM Joseph decided that it was time for his morning binge. He's been getting a fair amount of sleep lo these last few nights, but when he wakes up he'll try to eat anything near his mouth. This morning he was particularly irrational, and he shrieked and shrieked and shrieked. 5AM slipped into 5:15AM, and despite two pillows on my head, I couldn't drown it out. (This is where I lose my Father of the Year nomination. Using the bathroom experience as an excuse, I didn't offer much (read: any) help to Grace as she wrestled with the boy.)

Finally, at 5:41, I was wide awake and out of excuses. Almost. I was teetering on the edge. I could reset the alarm for 6:30, just maybe, and save a little conscience. After all, the baby was bawling his eyes out...

"Will you take him while I go pump?" Grace asked plaintively.

Look, I love my son. I love him with a heart-aching passion whether he's crying or cooing. But at that moment I saw an opportunity, I guess, and said, "Well, I guess I'll just have to get a bike ride in this evening."

The suddenness of her response startled me. "No! Go for a bike ride! I can wait!"

Hmm...

It occurs to me that Grace, for all of her love and encouragement, may have a larger stake in my exercise than I thought. To tell the truth, it hurt a little bit.

"No, really, I can just go tonight."

"Get up and move, fatty."

And I did. I have no one to blame but myself.

***

In many ways, where we live is awesome. Lots of walking paths in the immediate vicinity, a library, movie theatre, grocery store, ample and diverse restaurants (which is part of the problem). But the biking is terrible. It's all intersections and power lines and freeways. At my last bachelor pad, one of the area's best and most challenging bike paths ran ten feet from my bedroom. However, after a little trial-and-error, I eventually found the Northwest Passage of bike paths that connected our place to the Mall and the monuments. My goal was to get to at least the Lincoln Memorial, if not the Capitol itself.

I failed. I was hauling butt, considering I haven't been on the bike in a year, but I only made it as far as the Air Force Memorial. As it happens, this was most fortuitous. You'd hardly know it from almost any vantage in the area, but the Air Force Memorial is on a slight hill, giving you a really fantastic view of D.C. and all the major architectural landmarks. The sun was just coming up over the Jefferson Memorial, and it looked a lot like (to this rabid Catholic's reckoning) a Communion Host. The Lincoln and Washington Monuments were bathed in that soft, pink glow, and in the distance you could see the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception, the Washington Cathedral, the Capitol dome, and the Library of Congress.

I was the only person there, which was good because I had to put my head down and stare at the grass to keep from puking. I must have looked sad, but I wasn't. It was a perfect morning wreathed in joy.