People often ask me where I get the fortitude to wake up
each morning at 4am to work out. Actually, usually they ask why I’m dumb enough
to do it…then at some point, it turns to the question of will. To be honest, it’s not something I enjoy and
it certainly isn’t easy. Most days I wake up about 3:55…a few minutes before
the alarm goes off, and glance over at the clock only to silently curse at the
horrific reality that it’s time to leave the comfort of bed. I usually lie
there wondering if getting up in the still of the night is really necessary.
Often I think about how nice would be to just rest…and begin to tell myself
that it’s unfair that I have to rise up so early just to fend off the meteoric
physical decline of my rapidly aging assisted living body. Then, just about the
time I convince myself it would be fine to just skate, I think about the exact same
thing. I think about soldiers.
I think about young men and women in places like Yorktown, Lexington,
Concord, Antietam, Hampton Roads, Gettysburg, Flander’s Field, Normandy, Iwo
Jima, Okinawa, The Chosin Reservoir, Tet, La Drang Valley, Fallujia and Mogadishu. I think about all the young
people that fought in those places and that didn’t come home. I think about the terrible conditions they had to endure, largely
so I’d have the freedom to lay in the comfort of bed on American soil pondering
the injustices of things like getting up early, inconsiderate bicyclists that block
rush-hour traffic and the pathetic nature of our present “everybody gets a trophy” entitled
society.
By virtue of pure timing and luck, I never had to serve our nation in time of
war. I wasn’t around for WWII or Korea, and was too young for Vietnam. By the time
we went to Iraq I was well past my prime…so for the most part, my biggest struggles
in life have been crises like prized bikes stolen in childhood, college football failures, squirrels in the attic
and leaking air-handler dip pans.
After I reflect for about 30 seconds on those that served so I
didn’t have to, I feel momentarily shammed and swing my legs onto the floor and
slip into my Columbia moccasins for the limp down to the basement gym or to fetch
my running shoes. Usually the minute I feel the pain of my first few arthritic bench reps or
initial miserably slow strides down the darkened street, the feeling of gratitude quickly subsides and I return
to my private incessant kvetching. But at least for a few moments, I do appreciate those
that gave so much so that I can whine about my big little things.
Not sure what you’re doing this Memorial Day Weekend, but
whatever it is, spend some time doing something you enjoy with the people that you
truly love. Some folks paid a significant price to give us all that luxury, so out
of deference to them, let’s make their sacrifice count.
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