I guess I should get mad more often. This morning I played tennis with my buddy Dave Krueger, and scored my first victory over him this summer. . . and not just that, but a Pete Sampras-ish 6-3, 6-0 thrashing. I was swatting winners today as though that little ball was the head of the nameless staff person at Hal Leonard who unceremoniously relieved me of all duties this week at their big choral event. No, not really – The single biggest reason for my emphatic victory is that Dave banged up his right ankle while playing softball for Holy Communion Sunday night. Normally, he tears around the court like a rabbit, getting to every ball . . . but he was moving a little bit gingerly today and that was the main difference. But I would be lying if I didn’t admit to playing with a little extra fire today. In an odd sort of way, I was also playing for my friend Playford – who is suffering from ALS. I visited him for three hours last night, and whenever I am with him I find myself newly grateful for this puny body of mine, unimpressive though it may be. At least it still works – and today on that tennis court, I couldn’t help but revel in the sensation of being able to run and leap and do all of the other things that I am so apt to completely take for granted.
Then tonight, while Kathy was working hard at a Side by Side by Sondheim blocking rehearsal (which I did not have to attend) I paid one of my longest visits to Razor Sharp and actually put in 3 and half miles on the treadmill at a fairly brisk pace. (I’ve been averaging two miles in most of my visits, and sometimes time constraints have made it even less than that.) And as was the case on the tennis court, I had this sensation that the pent up frustration from this Hal Leonard thing was part of what had me really rolling tonight. This may seem like a ridiculously obvious observation- that physical exertion can be an effective release of stress- but for someone so non-physical as me, this amounts to a real Ah Ha! realization. Now I’m sort of wishing that when I was tasting some very potent frustration with a certain someone at Carthage a couple of years back, it would have occurred to me to get my body moving beyond pounding out some loud Richard Strauss accompaniments on the piano. I think I could have let go of so much more frustration and stress than I did. Tonight, by the way, I was on that treadmill not just to walk off my frustration and anger, but also to walk off the naughty dinner I had with Kathy . . . a di Giorno Sausage and Pepperoni Pizza. I am learning that occasional naughtiness is okay if it happens on a day when I have the time to work up some extra sweat as compensation.
One last observation. . . I got to Razor Sharp tonight at about 8:40 . . . and I was there until 9:50, ten minutes before they close . . . . and by the time I got off of the treadmill, I was the only person in the whole place except for the two people behind the desk. There was something kind of cool about that – about being the one guy still working up a sweat while everyone else had headed home. It was just me and my book – in this case, Thurston Clarke’s fantastic book about Robert Kennedy’s 1968 fun for the presidency, “The Last Campaign.” I interview the author tomorrow morning and I only got the book tonight, so every minute I was on that treadmill I was also feverishly reading this book. I’m glad the mirrors are positioned away from the treadmills so I can’t see myself, because I suspect I am rather weird looking . . . I don’t ever remember seeing anyone else on the treadmills or stationary bikes with a book or magazine. Not only am I reading on the treadmill, I’m even underlining the book and jotting notes in the margin as I walk, which is rather tricky. (I sometimes feel like one of those guys on the old Ed Sullivan Show who juggled fine china while riding a unicycle.) I may look like the world’s biggest nerd, but at least I’m a nerd whose waist size is down from 42 to 38.
pictured: Razor Sharp Fitness Center, pretty much deserted as I left tonight just before closing.