In a corner of nowhere, surrounded by too many people

If exhaustion had a color, what would it be? Something...empty.

The world passed me by for a bit.

Every so often I get reminded of the cost of my occupation. I love what I do for work. I enjoy my job and the folks I work with. However, I work nights and most other folks...don't.

My sleep schedule is erratic. I tend to get run down a lot more easily than I did when I didn't work nights. So I fight through what I can...with my body occasionally shutting down for all or part of a day. Some people fight through illness to burn out whatever ails 'em. I've tried that before, it tends to make me worse instead of better.

Yesterday was one of those days. Unfortunately it was a training day for me as well. Going to training represents a double challenge: not just the challenge of training but an extremely long drive there and back. Unfortunately I wasn't up for both, which leaves me a little depressed.

I'm back at my pushup routine, however. A set of 7, 90 seconds break. Another set of 7, then 90 seconds break. Then 5, break, then 4, break, then another try for my maximum. This time, I make it to 18 before my arms start shudder and give out. The victory feels diminished by my own frustration over my (lack of) output over the last couple of days, but at least, its another step forward.

And it's root, root, root for the Red Sox...

Caught up with my colleague R today and asked him how he was doing with his challenge. He stammered a bit. Uh oh, my question made him uncomfortable. He quickly changed the subject to the Red Sox.

Haven't been following sports that closely over the last few years...probably because I find getting out and training to be more fun than sitting in front of the tube watching a game. However, I've been to a lot of games...including a lot of terrible games. But...the tickets were usually comped. The companionship was usually good. At the time, was all that mattered.

Fenway Park the way I remember it. Without the Green Monster seating

I left thinking about the goals I set out. I felt foolish. Here I've gone and made grandiose plans and set aggressive goals for myself...partly because I was caught up in a friend's enthusiasm. Now, I think I'm going to be alone in this. I went and drove off to a quiet corner and pondered a bit. Some people talk a good game, I'm going to get in and play a good game.

Then, the idea hit me. I felt so focused on the numbers, I've forgotten that the numbers really weren't the goal at all. It's the training and the fitness that is the real goal. Are the aggressive? Hell yeah. But, as long as I don't do something stupid (like work out so hard that I get injured) they're worth pursuing.

I stepped out of the car, and did light calesthenics, forms practice, self-defense technique practice, and kicking drills for an hour. Aggressive goal? Bring it on. :)

98 practice hours, 98 class hours, and 88 pushups to go.

One...Two....Three...TWELVE?

Now that I've completed my test with my whopping three pushups, I was ready to begin the pushups program. It looked sensible enough, and straightforward enough. The pushups are done in 5 sets, pausing for a minimum of 60 seconds between sets. There was a notation stating that the rest period could be longer if needed.

My level...4 sets of two pushups, then for the last set, do as many as I possibly can, with a minimum of three. I start dreading this. It's embarrassing enough to admit that I can only do three in a row....it will be even more embarrassing if I can't make the three at the end.

But...martial arts is about overcoming fear, right? Or...so I tell myself.

I begin. One set of two. I verbally count off 60 seconds. My cat starts circling around my prone body...as if he is laughing at me. "Hey, what are you doing down here?" he says with his feline eyes. "Its usually me that lies down on the floor."

Second set of two. Count off. The cat retreats to a safer distance. 3rd set of two. I can feel a difference in my arms. Count off. Fourth set of two. My arms are starting to burn. Count off.

Fifth set. Inhale.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight...nine.....ten......eleven.......twellllve...flop.

TWELVE? I just went from three to twelve? I stretch out on my back and stare at the ceiling. I start second guessing my form. I know I don't get as low as I can when I do pushups from the knee.

An idea comes to me. I flip back over on my belly and start doing pushups from the knees. I can do fifteen. I do three more sets of 15, each with a minimum 60 second break in between. My fifth set...I get all the way to twenty.

I'm really feeling it now...across my arms, chest, and back. I grab a bokken and run through some Iaido cuts and Ocho-Ocho patterns with each arm. My left arm feels particularly stiff, but by the time my bokken gets put away, both arms feel more invigorated.

99 practice hours, 98 class hours, and a surprising 88 pushups to go.

If only you could see the stunned look on my face......