A Fork in the Road

It’s hard to try and face your demons. Even the best of people have them, although some seem to tune out those nagging voices better than the rest of us do. I personally suffer from a lack of will, a tendency not to follow through. It’s not for lack of interest, because I desperately want to change, but that overwhelming desire to change only lasts until it comes time to act, and that is when my urge to procrastinate takes control.

I also have an addictive personality. I am addicted to television, movies, and most dangerously…food. It is a good thing I never took up drugs, drinking or smoking, because I would surely be dead by now. I have issues with moderation (as long as it doesn’t interfere with my inherent laziness).

That’s the problem with most things that are bad for you. You don’t really have to work or expend any effort to do them. I can sit in my cozy recliner, watch television and eat. My addictions are satisfied and my apparent repulsion to movement abated. There’s a comfort in slothful living, as the lack of exertion causes the muscles and joints to atrophy, it’s so much easier to simply rest (despite the fact that you haven’t done anything). It’s a vicious circle of lifelessness. The longer to let yourself go, the easier it is to stay there.

I’m getting to the age that it is not only stupid, but dangerous for me not to take better care of myself. I would say that I need to “exercise more,” but that would mean I have been making a recognizable attempt to exercise at all. We pay nearly $120 per month for a family membership to our local fitness center, and I can count on one hand the number of times I have stepped inside those doors in the last half a year. (Okay, I’ll be completely honest. I can probably count on one finger how many times I’ve stepped inside, and even then, I’m not sure if I did anything).

I’m the King of excuses. My excessive travel schedule keeps me away from home a lot, so when I am there, I say “I don’t want to spend time at the gym; I want to be with my family!” Awwww….I’m such a sweetheart! That’s so touching…but completely delusional. I don’t believe it even as it comes out of my mouth, and I’m sure my family doesn’t either. I don’t go because I’m lazy. It’s that simple.

I don’t really have a good excuse not to exercise when I travel either, but I am pretty gullible, so it doesn’t take much to convince myself to stay in my room and do nothing. Every hotel I stay in has some kind of fitness room, yet I flip on the television and stare mindlessly at a repeat of NCIS like it’s going to give me total enlightenment. Stupidity has to be a disease, right?

I hear people who say that you can get “addicted” to exercise. I can’t imagine. I would love to feel the same passion for a treadmill that I do for hot wings. I want to feel the burn in my muscles and say, “bring it on,” instead of “oh, that’s enough for now.” Is there a pill I can take that will make me want it? I’ll buy a lifetime supply.

I know the answer to the question, and I don’t like it. It comes down to the mental challenge, not the physical. I have to commit to beating these demons and be consistent. I have to do things I don’t want to do and give up lots of things I really enjoy. I have to battle my own personality for control of my future existence.

Yesterday, Connie and my three daughters hiked to the top of Mt. LeConte and back. That’s an eleven mile round trip, with an elevation climb of over 2500 feet in five and a half miles (most of that in the last half of the climb). I had a good excuse not to go, because I am at a meeting in Maryland, but even if I could have scheduled it, I wouldn’t have attempted the climb. I’m pretty sure my body probably wouldn’t have made it. I’m also pretty sure that my mind wouldn’t have let me try.

I have to change my self-perception. I have to alter not just what I CAN DO, but what I THINK I can do. I need to be braver. I need to take some risks. I have to push harder (as opposed to not pushing myself at all).

I’m so proud of my girls for conquering Mt LeConte. Ashlyn and Taylor had never hiked that far before, nor had Shelby’s friend Christine, who hiked with them. It was tough, but they did it. Last night they were exhausted and sore, but justifiably proud of their achievement. This was not a day of lying around the house, playing WII or watching Disney Channel. There were no cell phones, no computers, no Facebook. It was them vs. the mountain and they won.

As I talked to Connie last night, she told me of the long trip up the mountain and the difficulties coming back down. We don’t often think about the fact that the steep return downhill is even harder on the feet and legs, putting more stress and pressure on muscles and tendons, which have to stretch in ways they are not used to doing. It was an unfortunate time for Taylor to realize that she had begun to outgrow her hiking boots. Shortly after leaving the summit, her feet were in agony. Miles from the end of the trail, fighting tears and the painful swelling of blisters; she had no choice but to continue.

At Inspiration Point, still two miles from the end of the trail, they stopped for a break and Taylor removed her boots and socks. The tops of her toes were blistered and the sides of her feet were red and sore. Each step inside those boots had been painful.

Shelby sat down and removed her Keen hiking sandals, insisting that Taylor wear them. The larger, much more comfortable sandals brought relief to Taylors aching feet and she was able to hike the rest of the trail easily. Shelby obviously couldn’t wear Taylor’s boots, so she continued the hike barefoot, walking over gravel and shale, knobby roots and anything else that might poke up from the ground and into her tender skin.

After listening to Connie tell me this story over the phone, I lay in bed and thought about what had happened for a long time and woke up with it on my mind again this morning. I’m so glad my girls didn’t inherit my weaknesses. They faced challenges and they persevered. They had pain, yet they forged ahead. They sacrificed their own comfort for the good of someone they love. They are each, in their own way, amazing.

I am obviously proud, but also inspired. I would willingly die for any of them; jump in front of a bullet, fight a bear, race into a burning building. As a father, that goes without saying. More importantly though, am I willing to LIVE for them? Am I willing to get off the couch and make an effort? Will I take up the sword against the demons that taunt and whisper in my ear? Will I cut the strings they use to control me, moving me around the stage like the sluggish puppet I am? I’m going to try.

In six months I’m going to look back on these words as either the start down a new, exciting path or another humiliating failure in my attempts to get some control over my self-destructive habits. I’m hoping that making it public (at least as public as this basically invisible blog) will make me more accountable. Keep me in your thoughts and prayers. It’s going to be a rocky trail.

The journey begins…