Zero Hour

dis·ci·pline (dĭs'ə-plĭn) Pronunciation Key
n. Training expected to produce a specific character or pattern of behavior, especially training that produces moral or mental improvement.

Today was to be my first day back to the gym. Notice the "to be" quietly inserted into that sentence and realize how impactful those two tiny, deceivingly innocent words can be.

For the past several weeks—hell, months—I've been screaming from the rafters that I'm buckling down. Heading back to the gym. Trimming the holiday fat that taunts me like the ghost of Christmas Future. And yet the mornings go by and the nights that precede them keep me up long past my self-imposed bedtimes and... as you might have already summised, I did not venture out to the gymnasium this dawn.

I publish the photo above as a reminder of what I should have seen today. Keaton sent me that snapshot a couple days ago on another cold morning where the soft and warm blankets in my bed cradled me into a state of blissful rest while he and many other disciplined people did what I've yet to do in 2008.

Holy frak. We're eighty-four days into the year. Coming up on the end of the first quarter and me and that gym are as foreign to each other as a whale on the moon. It's altogether sobering and mildly infuriating as I sit here at work, 45 minutes until I could even think about leaving, sipping a Diet Dr. Pepper in some twisted lunacy that tells me I'm being healthy by using a product that has zero calories, when for all I know it's all a horrible ruse.

Then work happened.

It's now over an HOUR past when I could have thought about leaving and here I sit. Some work popped up at the last minute (as it is oft prone to do) and as the clock ticks past six, I'm going to wrap up this discombulation of thoughts so that I can a) get out of here and get some dinner, b) get some writing done, and c) find a way to get a neck rub, because I need one. Pain. Lots of pain.

So where was I? Oh yes. I was lamenting that I haven't been to the gym once this entire year. And that is really pathetic. So, I've decided that everyday that I don't go to the gym (when I should've—it's a six days a week kinda thing), I'm going to post about it. Not a huge thing. But just enough public humiliation to do a body good. Like losing a bet with myself. If I don't go to the gym, I have to do X.

I have thoughts of wildly embarassing things I could do to accomplish that level of embarassment that's just enough to scare me into the gym, but it would scar you and I like you all too much to be responsible for years of pyschological torment (yes, nudity was involved).

I'll come up with something else. Need to ponder on it.

And I need to get the frak out of dodge. I'll let you know how my first day back at the gym goes. Or what horrible embarrasing thing I'll be doing tomorrow to make up for it. Suggestions welcome. Nothing illegal and no promises that I'll incorporate said stunts. But still, I invite you to be creative.