I owe you an apology.
I know. I know… I do this a lot. But this time, as with every time, I really mean it.
I’ve figured a couple things out. I know that you’ve been trying to tell me these things years, but sometimes I’m a little slow on the uptake. I’d like to blame Facebook, the demands of an adult American life, or those jokers back in Washington, but we both know it’s just me. I’m ready to own up to that.
For instance, I know that you need more than four hours of sleep. Preferably, like… in a row. You want twelve? Heh… I’ll tell you right now that twelve ain’t gonna happen.
Sleep’s a tough one for me to give ground on. I mean, if I had my way, we’d skip the whole sleep thing entirely. Just laying there, wasting time like a lump. Still, I’m not (usually… always?) an unreasonable guy. You want twelve. I want zero. I suggest a compromise. I think we can work something out.
Do me a favor? Let’s touch base about 10pm. If we do this daily for a couple weeks or so, I think we might be able to figure out a middleground that we both can live with.
Also, I remember Ashtanga.
How many times have you told me, “I can’t imagine not starting every day like this.” You weren’t just talking about the good ol’ days of month after month of two-hour yoga practices every morning. Yeah, I know those were good times for you, but you said the same thing after three clumsy sun salutations on a random and bleary-eyed Tuesday last November.
“Every day,” you said.
That’s a pretty tall order. Let’s be honest here. We both know that sometimes the wife and I like to open a second bottle of wine. Right? Those nights when we collapse in a heap of parental-laundry-garden-volunteer-camping-career-vacuuming sludge on the couch?
Be reasonable. We aren’t going to be working on our handstands at 0 dark 30 after those nights. But, I think I can jigger things around on my end enough for you to at least touch your toes a couple times. Again. I’m sorry. We can work something out.
I remember Crossfit, too.
Ok, before you get excited, I’ve got to put my foot down on this one. The gym schedule? Yeah… not going to happen. I’ve got three other schedules to work around. More, actually, if we still like our friends and feel like we’re doing important work at the office. No pun intended, but WODs in the gym aren’t going to work out.
But, hey. Hey! Don’t just throw your hands up and walk away from everything. Let’s figure this out.
Look. We still have the gymnastic rings that you wanted in the living room. We both know that you don’t hit your head when you do box jumps in the kid’s playroom. I also happen to know for a fact that the pullup bar is languishing on the floor in the Man Cave.
Don’t be so all or nothing on this. That’s no good for either of us. It’s going to be a few years, but we’ll get back there. And when we do, I promise that we’ll give all those twenty-somethings a run for their money. But until then, I’ll try not to hog all of the awake time.
This is good. I like this. We should do it more often. I know you’re willing, but I’m stubborn and I get distracted. There’s one more thing that I want to talk about, though.
I know what you need. Actually, these days you make it pretty darned clear what you like and don’t like. I shouldn’t go shoving just any old crap down your throat. Please understand that I do feel guilty about it afterward. I know that’s no excuse, but if you’ll try not to embarrass me after the occasional indulgence, I promise not to poison you slowly.
The silver lining on food is that we do pretty good as long as I’m not screwing up the whole sleep thing. Can we agree to focus on sleep first? If the food part doesn’t sort itself out, we can always take more drastic measures later. Deal? We good?
So, yeah. I’m sorry.
Really I am. And, even though it’s probably not the last time you’ll hear me say this, I’m going to do better.