Ominous

10.31.17

If it was a movie, the music would be building from something light and ALMOST harmonic… but a tiny thread of atonal would be weaving through the melody. And you’d know: Something bad is coming. Something wicked…

CARDIO.

Our heroine bites her knuckle and braces herself for the nightmare. Oh, no! Not cardio!

I’m healthy. I have the numbers to prove it. Weight and cholesterol dropping. Blood pressure enviable. Fasting blood sugar not so sweet (get it?). Waist? SMALLER.

Really, Maud – shouldn’t that be ENOUGH??

No. Barbara is never satisfied. (Well, she’s never satisfied with me… but I’ve got a long way to go!)

Alert readers (both of you) might recall that when I first threw myself on Barbara’s mercy some 17 months ago and begged her to train me, my original statement was “I’m ashamed of my cardio conditioning.”

That’s been true for just about all of my life. I remember insisting on playing fullback during endless, broiling nightmare days when “gym class” took place on the field hockey field. Why? Because at least half the time, I could SIT DOWN while all the action took place on the other half of the field. The rest of the time, I stood around looking thick and dumb while getting in the way of other, more fleet players.

No, cardio has never been my “thing,” man. It’s just not ME.

But I’m forced to admit: It ought to be.

If I’m serious about securing my health, then IT IS TIME. Barbara agrees. She’s built up in me the muscles I need to try for cardio health, and I’ve had such surprising success working with her that I’m going to dare to hope I can make cardio progress, too. My friend Steve says it builds up quickly, but I’ve never known that to be true… still, where the wise ones lead, I shall follow.

I asked Barbara – I’m the idiot student who reminds the teacher to assign homework – what she wanted me to add to my HEP (home exercise program) that would boost my cardio endurance.

“Any stairs in your house?”

“Two flights.”

“Good. Go up the stairs and then come back down. Do that three times.”

“Am I running up the stairs?”

She looked at me skeptically.

“No, not running.” I interpreted, and then admitted, “Good. I don’t think I could. How many times?”

“Three times.”

“Every day?”

“Once a week.”

“Once?? I’m doing my HEP every day I’m not here. I only have to do the stairs once?”

“Once, but three times.” She watched me; Barbara is getting very good at reading my tells. “And no fair doing it over an entire day. You have to go up and immediately down, then up and immediately down, then up and immediately down.”

While I think that will leave me sweaty and panting, I really DO think I can achieve this pathetic, remedial goal. I’m going to try.

Cardio. My Moby Dick. Call me Ishmael.