The Tirade About Squats

I have been doing assisted squats this week.  It’s best when holding on to a door knob or a counter top. Things feel a bit looser but they are still shitfucks of misery.

This is followed up by stretching and crying of course.

By day 3 it got better but those first few days were pure fuckery.

For example, I still see stars after the first 10 squats.  Have finally gotten up to 25.  Without assistance it is just a test of balance. With assistance it is a respectable depth … of pain that leads to soul searching.

I’m getting to the age where the only thing hard about my body is living in it.

Doing squats gives me the same feeling I get when I've been hit really hard and there's a strong possibility I might pass out.

I spread 50 squats over the course of a day.  It can be 5 sets of 10 or 2 sets of 25 or 3 sets of 15 with one set of 5.  Most are assisted (holding on to something).  None are that deep (like me in my 20s) and they all hurt.

They are supposed to help loosen up the psoas (muscles that hate my ass) but the only body part that feels worked out are the tear ducts.

Honestly, I’m happy to be able to do this exercise to strengthen the core and build endurance to keep going.

And, fuck squats.  The two feelings can coexist.  I don't just say this because I look like a fat duckling that’s about to fall over when I do them.  It’s because they suck.  My cat looks at me like he’s worried then he remembers he has an auto feeder.

Strangely though … I LOVE burpees.  They are possibly listed in the Geneva Convention as things you can’t do to prisoners BUT I can do a set of 5 to 10 every hour on the hour.  Go figure.

Maybe the jumping out of a squat makes the soul think it is ascending to heaven without actually trying to send me there.

As far as squats vs burpees, my burpees make me look like a hand sculpted Egyptian God standing in the golden sunset.  My squats make you wonder if I just shit myself.  Go figure.

Tirade complete.

The Road Home

 Sometimes the road home is smooth.  Sometimes it’s rough. Even though I live in CT, I fly out of Newark, NJ rather than Bradley.  It sounds like it might take more time BUT when going to Bradley there is a process.

The drive to Hartford can take anywhere from 1 - 2 hours depending on the day.  I park in the parking garage because I want to make the quick walk over to the airport.  It’s a little bit more expensive than offsite parking, but the convenience is worth it.  The Hartford airport is very small.  The gas, travel, and parking 3 for days usually cost me $120.

The travel to Newark, if planned properly, can be easier, though it’s also a process.  Three trains.  Metro-North is a 15 minute walk from my front door.  The ride to Bridgeport is $2.75 and takes 30 minutes.  Amtrak from Bridgeport to Newark can be as little as $20 each way.  With travel insurance the total can be $30 each way.  Bridgeport to Newark takes 2 hours 15 minutes.  The tram directly to the airport terminal takes 5 minutes. This cost is covered by the Amtrak ticket.  Total cost of round trip travel, when planned properly, $67.

The flight itself is also less expensive.  To fly from Hartford (BDL) to Tampa (TPA) is $205 at the time of this writing.  The flight from Newark (EWR) to Tampa (TPA) is $138, also at the time of this writing.  These are round trip numbers when scouring for cheap flights.  My flight from Newark to Tampa was only $100.

The only real wildcard with the train is flight changes.  In the past I’ve had to scramble to change a train when a flight is leaving 1 - 2 hours earlier than expected.  I’ve never missed a train due to a delayed flight but it’s been close.  

I now plan 3 hours on either side (arrival and departure) just to make sure there is some flexibility if things go haywire.

If the flight is changed to an earlier time at Bradley, I drive over earlier.  If the flight is delayed coming home the car will always be waiting in the parking garage.  If the flight is delayed it costs more but the car will still be there.

On the last trip from Tampa I decided to take the earlier train back from Newark.  My flight landed at 3.  I was supposed to be on the 6 pm.  This train would have brought me back home for 9:05 pm.  If I could catch the earlier, the 4:12 pm, I would be back home for 7:15 pm.  Called Amtrak to change it.  Was on the phone for 15 minutes.

They tried to change the ticket but didn’t, initially.  They lost the slot for the $20 ticket I paid for and said I had to pay the conductor $5 when I got on the train. No problem.  I hung up and waited for the app to refresh my ticket.

Nothing.  15 minutes to train arrival.  Tried to refresh my ticket.  No change.  Still reads 6:00 pm.  10 minutes to train arrival.  No change.  5 minutes to train arrival.  Nothing.

I call again.  I’m put into the call tree.  I finally get to the point where I can enter my reservation number BEFORE it will let me talk to another human being. Even though the app has not refreshed the automated system lets me know that the reservation has been changed from 6:00 pm to 4:12 pm … THE NEXT DAY!!   It’s now 4:10.  The train arrives at 4:12.  I’m still on hold.  I jump on the train.  It takes off.  

I’m already on the train.  They are now coming around to scan tickets.  I’m thinking I might get kicked off the train.  The app is not refreshed.  Even if it did refresh, I’m on the wrong train.  Just as they are about to get to me there is a bit of commotion.

The train stops at the NJ Penn Station.  There is some police activity on one of the trains ahead of us and we are stopped for an undetermined amount of time.  

The problem with the train travel from Newark is that the schedule is very tight.  The 4:12 train from Newark arrived at Bridgeport at 6:37.  The Bridgeport train to my home station arrived at 6:47.  There was a 10 minute window.  The 6:00 pm train from Newark arrived at Bridgeport at 8:22.  The Bridgeport train to my home station arrived at 8:31.  Minimal room for error is allowed.  Hence the aforementioned 3 hour flexibility window.

The app is still not refreshing.  If they do decide to scan tickets, I might still get kicked off the train.  We are at NJ Penn Station for 1 hour.  No movement.  People start leaving the train to take The Path.  This is the local train that takes you from New Jersey Penn Station to the World Trade Center Station.  I would then have to take another train to Grand Central to catch the metro-north back to CT.

The guilt begins.  Why didn’t you just stay on the 6:00 pm?  By this time 90% of the passengers have left the train to catch The Path or take an Uber.

I got off the train to take The Path but I couldn’t get my card to work on the turnstile.  As I turn around in frustration, I notice the train that was immediately in front of us for the last hour and a half has moved.

I jumped back on the train and it took off.  We were only 15 minutes ahead of the 6:00 pm train.  Everything felt clear.  Most of the passengers were gone.  I would be in Bridgeport early enough to make the 8:31 connection.  All was good.

Just then a voice came over the speakers.  “Thank you for staying with us through all the delays.  Next stop is New York Penn Station.  Due to the time taken up on the tracks, a new crew will be taking over.  We will be rescanning tickets.  Thank you for your patience.”

It was like a game of cat and mouse.

My ticket was still a mess.  I tried to call Amtrak to see if I could get it adjusted BUT we were now underground and I had no service.  Jumping on the Amtrak Wi-Fi didn’t help.  My phone is not set up for Wi-Fi calls.

What now?  Get off the train and hope to catch the Metro North back to CT?  Stay on the train and plead the case to the conductor?  Even if they dumped me off at the next stop I could’ve made it back.

I decided to stay on and take my chance with the conductor.  I wasn’t trapped in Jersey anymore.  I was in Metro-North land.  The last train from Bridgeport to the home station was 11:43.  I would get home at 12:13 in the morning.  It was miserable and late but it would have worked.

I saw the conductor and stated my case.  He scanned my ticket.  The app still hadn’t refreshed.  The reservation scan pulled up my information.  It looks like the agent over the phone had deleted everything.  There wasn’t even a 4:12 ticket for the next day.  He laughed it off and let me stay on the train.

Got to Bridgeport at 8:05 rather than 6:37 or 8:22.  Caught the 8:31 back to my home station and walked the 15 minutes.  The 6:00 pm from Newark to Bridgeport flew through without a problem.  Everything was cleared up by the time they were ready to roll.

Apparently, a man had been killed in an altercation on one of the trains ahead of us.  He would never get where he was going.  That incident is what delayed all of the trains going into the city.  Sometimes the road home is smooth.  Sometimes it’s rough.  At least I made it.

The Happy

      I have an app on my phone that tracks happiness.  The first question it asks is “What went well today?”.  Each day, even the terrible, has a moment that goes right.  There will be something that makes the day worthwhile.  The idea is to clear away enough noise and leave the door open to the point where that moment can be recognized.

     It’s not about searching for the moment.  It’s about recognizing the moment when it happens.  Recognize and remember.  Most people spend more time searching for the moments than finding them.  In order to find these moments, the door has to be open.  If the door is not open to find these moments you might walk right by them.

     As you can imagine, the first few months there was nothing listed.  Downloading an app doesn’t make things happen.  Being open to new things that let you access positive aspects of yourself can allow things to happen but it doesn’t make things happen either.

     The app would catch my eye every now and then but it wasn’t something I actively sought to work on.  Nothing sucks the fun out of fun like making it a job or a goal.  The  app would come up when I was debating deleting other apps.

     Somehow there are over 200 apps on the phone but only about 10 to 15 of them are ever really used.  Much like that closet and the basement, the thought process is, “I can’t throw this out.  I’m sure I’ll use it one day”.

     Most of the apps are copies of other apps.  There’s an app for Word.  There’s an app for Docs.  There’s an app for Pages.  This is all funny as hell to me because I use Notes.  There are whole suites of each eco system.  The spreadsheet, the presenter, the note taker.  There should be a forehead slapper app that pops up and says “Hey, do you really need ANOTHER one of these?” and then takes a picture of your face while you look incredulously at the screen.

    I remember losing a sock.  It was a color-coded sock.  It matched one of my outfits just right.  I searched high and low for this sock.  I looked on the stairs.  I looked under the bed.  I looked behind the washer.  I looked behind the dryer.  I looked between the washer and the dryer.  I could not find this sock to save my soul.  I was convinced that the dryer had slipped it into witness protection.  

     I opted not to wear the outfit for two weeks because I couldn’t wear it the way I wanted to wear it.  On the third week I was headed out and said “You know what?   Screw this.  I’m just going to wear it with some similar socks.  No one will know.  I’m just being a crybaby.  How can you suggest other people be open to things when you are whining, bitching, and moaning about a pair of socks.”

     I let it go.  When I went to put the sweater on the sleeve was blocked.  The dryer sheet had wedged itself in the sleeve and trapped the sock in with it.  I almost broke my ankle dancing around the bedroom.  It was too simple to share.  I felt like a crazy person because I was so happy.  That’s when I remembered the happy app.

     I wasn’t searching for a moment.  I had let it go.  In letting it go; I found the moment I was looking for.  Shoulders dropped.  Deep breath released.  Recognized and remembered.

First Right of Refusal

     “That’s a bit much,” I said sitting with my blue cloth mask on.  Everyone had this strange habit.  They would walk into a bar or restaurant with a mask on, sit down, and immediately take the mask off.  It’s like they think ‘It won’t bother me while I’m eating.’

     Karen was out and about for the first time in over a year.  Since our video call she was almost placed on a ventilator but at the last moment something in the universe clicked and her breathing became manageable.  It had been a shitty few months.  Tony and Amber went from a May December romance to a man dating a woman who was younger than his daughter.

     “This woman I work with built a gym in her house.  She can’t wait for the world to open up so she can get back to it.  I think she’s going for a revenge body.”

     Karen showed me a moderately attractive woman in her mid 40’s with a few before and after pictures.  The caption on her twit/face/insta/space read ‘How it started.  How it’s going.’  To her credit she had made a significant body change.  She just didn’t seem like she was enjoying it.

     Don’t get me wrong no one truly enjoys the process.  Most people love the results but the process is typically loathed.

     “Maybe she’s going for first right of refusal,” I offered while we watched people pile back into the restaurant.  “I’m glad we chose to sit outside.”

     “Me. Too.  BUT it would be nice if our waitress remembered we were out here.”  

     “True.”  I checked my watch.  It had been 10 minutes.

     “What the hell is first right of refusal?” Karen asked.  Her eyebrows furrowed.

     “So, a few years ago,” I started, “I was more out of shape than I am now.  I started eating better, drinking more water, getting more sleep and even doing yoga.”

     “Fuck yoga.”

     “I felt the same way but,” I said wagging my finger, “it worked.”

     “I got it.  You were in better shape.”

     “No.  I got noticed!  Better shape was a byproduct.  I was in good shape for a few years.  What that gave me was the confidence to make choices.  I got to choose.  I got to refuse.  It was a wonderful feeling. Getting noticed is good.”

     “Well maybe you could do some yoga now and get us noticed by our waitress.

     “That might be a bit much.” 

The Noise

      So much noise.  Here’s the thing about noise, once you realize it’s noise, it can be easy to ignore … if you want to ignore it.

     Let’s say you had a person who said “I’m going to pay you $25 on Tuesday”.  Tuesday comes and goes.  There is no $25.  You see this person again on Friday and they say “Oh, I’m so sorry.  You know, next Tuesday I’ll pay you $25”.  You guessed it.  Tuesday comes and goes.  If this happens more than once you will realize that this is just noise.

     You might find that as you treat this as noise, the person who continues to make this noise will be angry at YOU because you are no longer listening.  They may up the amount from $25 to $50 to even $75 or more. What is the main thing that all of these amounts have in common?  The promise is never fulfilled.  It doesn’t make any sense.  They don’t have anything to offer.  They want the most important things you have to give.  It’s not the money.  They want the time and the attention.

     There have been multiple studies from nursing homes, hospice facilities, and elder care.  No one wishes they spent more time in the office or traveling for work.

     When we get older no one will wish they spent more time on you/twit/face/insta/space.  No one will remember the last argument they won on you/twit/face/insta/space.  They know they blocked someone but they won’t be able to remember why.  They know relationships never healed and will only remember too late that it was over something trivial.  They’ll remember the moment something could have changed but didn’t change because the other person should have done it.  They’ll regret that they didn’t try.

     Die having tried.  Did you try to spend that time with people you loved?  Did you try to fix that crazy family dynamic?  Did you try that idea you had?  Trying is not the aforementioned CouchSpirAssy of looking up something on you/twit/face/insta/space and watching other people do it.  Trying is not thinking ‘I have to quit my job and give it my all.  Failure with no back up’.  Trying is just that, trying.  You might not get a yes if you ask but if you don’t try, the answer is always no.  

     Stop listening to the noise and surprise yourself.  You’d be amazed at what you can do when you take a few minutes to actually try to do it.  Overthinking usually equals underperforming.  You can do this if you just let yourself get away from the noise.

     The noise is seductive.  We’ve all fallen into the trap.  It pays just enough attention to us to get our attention and trust.

     I remember meeting a friend and her family out for dinner at a nice brewery with a view of Long Island Sound.  For me, it was a deeper look in to the life and family of a friend I’ve known for years.  For most of them it was a trip down memory lane.  There was food and laughter and drinks and an overall good time.  

     We were all adults.  Most were married with kids or deep into a career.  There were no teenagers here.  There was a little bit of noise.  It snagged the youngest one when she pulled out her phone to take a quick photo to post on twit/face/insta/space.

     She disappeared.  For her, there was no more food.  There were no more drinks.  There was no Long Island Sound.  There was just noise.  The laughter and the fun of the family had been replaced by the sound of her being sucked into an argument on twit/face/insta/space in which she had no stakes.

     We eventually got her back but it was like taking keys away from a drunk friend at the bar who doesn’t think they’re that drunk.

     What will she remember from that night?  Will it be the family, the food, the fun, the sound, or will it be the noise?  Who knows?  Maybe, just maybe, this Tuesday she’ll get offered $100.

The Task

      What if the solution, like the goal, is more of the problem than its name suggests.  Solutions and goals aren’t typically the end all to be all.  They are completed tasks.  It’s a checked box.  The box has been checked.  Why doesn’t this “task” feel completed?

     Was it your task to complete?  Who put the solutions and goals into the box in the first place?  For the majority of our early lives we are simply clicking off goals and tasks that have been set up by someone else.  It’s all chores and homework with a few seconds carved out to fill in the spaces between.

     The busy work keeps you from “getting into too much trouble” and running the train off the tracks.  It was school, homework, some intermediate activity (band, basketball, volleyball, swimming, baseball, softball, lacrosse, soccer, wrestling, theater, choir, chorus, glee club), work, college prep, dating, rejection, church, temple, or mosque.

     Heaven help us if we were saddled with sick, depressed, alcoholic, abusive, or absent parents.  If you were lucky enough to be outside of this super intense cycle, you weren’t able to sidestep all of it.  You had a friend or cousin who had to crash on your couch, sleep in the guest bed room, or seemed to spend more time with your family than they did with their own.

     There were the raised voices behind closed doors, arguments held over the phone, the “maybe this isn’t really our business” conversation.  “Please, you can’t let them go back.  He’ll kill them.  Just let them stay until he sleeps it off” response.

     So many intense kitchen conversations were over heard from a vent in the bedroom.  We were quietly listening to our parents talking other parents off the ledge.  They were younger parents who were supposed to have everything but couldn’t understand why it was all going sideways.  They came to my parents because they were older.  In hindsight they were younger than I am now.

     Maybe you were on the other end of the phone hoping you could crash on a friend’s couch, sleep in their guest bedroom, or spend more time with their family than your own.  Maybe you were too young to remember the last time you left your house but you somehow, even though you were crying and wanting to stay, knew you weren’t going back.

     Whose boxes are these?  Who would choose any of these boxes to check?  What if the busy work were finding out about who we were deep inside and moving in that direction rather than distracting us from the unknown?  

     When we were little, my Dad didn’t just send us to bed.  Our bedtime was 8:00 pm.  At 7:30 we would do 5 minutes of calisthenics and then we would ‘sit and listen to the house’.  We would close our eyes and try to listen for the sounds of the house.  Because we couldn’t hear the house, he would have us listen to our breathing.  He would then have us pay attention to our heart beat.  Our feet would be planted on the floor and we were allowed to leave the day behind.

     When we opened our eyes we had carved out a few seconds in the day to keep the train running on the tracks.  This is a box I choose to check.  Feet planted, shoulders dropped, door wide open.  Task chosen.  Task completed.