We are couch-cuddling, watching Mr. Bean cartoons and eating tacos (lean turkey, no greasy beef – big chunks of avocado, no sour cream.) No time for the gym: I need to take publicity pictures for a show at the community theatre. I bring my son with me to get him out of the house, let his mother sleep a little before her shift. He loves the city’s arts center, and demands that we bring our basketballs to play on the adjacent courts this weekend. “Yeah! Let’s do that,” I chirp as I scruff his hair. He races me to the front door and giggles wildly as he leaves me in his dust.
“I wish I could bring you to the gym with me,” I sigh on the way home, photo shoot completed.
“Why can’t you?”
“They don’t have a place for you at Daddy’s gym. Daddy’s gym is really bare bones.”
“I could bring you to MY gym!”
“Oh yeah? You’ve got an in?”
“Yes. Where I learned to swim.”
“Ahhhh. Well, that’s the nice gym in town. I’m not a member there. I think your mother still is. Your grandparents definitely are.”
“Daddy, I’ll tell them you’re with me and you’re allowed to come in.”
“I’ll be your guest?”
“Yeah! You’ll be my guest and I will tell them, ‘This is Christopher Edward and he’s my daddy so he can come in.’”
“That sounds very official. Maybe I’ll just go ahead and join that gym so we can play together.”
It sounds nice in my head. I’m losing my job in a matter of weeks, but until then I will indulge in fantasies. The smart thing to do would be to start saving money but I refuse. No fun. I’ll pay my debts, I’ll feed us well, and then batten down the hatches. Ain’t the first time, ain’t the last.
I’m not scared. Genuinely. I’m not. I am at peace. After I put him to bed I do some light exercises to keep myself honest. Nothing wild, just enough to keep up my end of the bargain. I’m annoyed that I didn’t get to go to the gym tonight, which is a new, strange feeling. I’ve actually begun to enjoy myself, even while running, which is still completely stupid. But maybe I’ll put all that running to good use playing some basketball this weekend. Who knows? The world is our oyster.
I sleep in a little too long, unwilling to break up the morning Cuddle Party with the boy. I leave myself just enough time to do some light stretching, ten minutes of ab work, and a little pigeon to loosen up the hip joints. A moment of tranquility.
I weigh myself. It’s good news.
This journey ends in three days but, obviously, it’s not the end of my writing or whatever happens next with this body of mine. No idea what comes next. Never do. For all I know I’ll gain back every pound in a week and throw away the tank top once your back is turned. Or maybe I’ll get hooked on a feeling and churn out the wirey, muscle-y body I always pretend I have. Probably somewhere in between, if history is a guide. The important thing is that on Monday I am going to be wearing a He-Man ‘Sup Ladies tank top and I’m not going to look like a total idiot, other than the fact that I am wearing a He-Man ‘Sup Ladies tank top.
I look out my office window and a group of joggers race past, probably departing the riverwalk trail just a few blocks away. I make a mental note to start packing jogging clothes next week. Only got a few more chances to experience that beautiful thing for myself, after taking the boy to a festival there last weekend, so better get at it. You’ve got to miss no chances in this life. You’ve got to say yes to everything, because we’re only alive for the tiniest blip of a second and then it’s all gone.
I’d meant to pack running clothes today so I could run at lunch and then tell you guys all about it. If it’s pretty enough I’ll let you know – just somewhere else, if I have the time. I’ve got three pieces to write for shows in Atlanta, and some music to arrange, and classes to teach, and a festival that’s about to kick into gear. Can’t stop, won’t stop.
Today’s workout mix is a real treat, prepared by my good buddy Adam. He’s one of the dopest people I’ve ever met and his excellent taste in everything and easygoing friendship have been a gift to me for years. He’s a new dad, bopping around Queens with the cutest little biscuit, and I’m over the moon happy for him.
I gave him zero direction, total discretion, and I love what he came back with. He’s always been in great shape as long as we’ve known each other, so I trusted whatever would come to his weird mind when thinking of “Workout Music.” In his own words, “it’ll put some extra giddy-up in your hee-haw.” It’s got nothing but good vibes for days, so fill your heads, embrace the change, and keep going. Keep going, keep going, keep going. See you Monday.
OK, also, Spotify is at the moment wiped out due to that enormous DDOS attack, but at some point you can listen to this playlist and it is super good. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯