Thirty days
A friend has recently been challenging me with the theme “30 days to live.” Aside from what the country-western song suggests I would not spend the time skydiving, mountain climbing, or riding bulls. I would probably keep working, for I find it therapeutic. I would go to the gym less, but ride my bike more. I would eat more nachos, cheeseburgers, and cheesecake. I would spend more time with all my relatives, and let them know how much they mean to me. I would finish my will, and my power of attorney paperwork. And I would show my family where all the stuff I have written is, in case they want to read it someday. How’s about you?
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Pride
In the last three years I have ridden my bike 3,000 miles and have never fallen once. I have been quite proud of that. Then I fell two days ago. Scripture says that pride goes before a fall, and in my case that is literally true. Catholics have always listed pride as one of the seven deadly sins. CS Lewis says that pride is the source of all – not some, but all – human failing. I’m scratched up, scuffed up, and I still ache 48 hours later. Mostly, though, it hurt my pride. My pride is probably the part that will heal the slowest. Lesson learned.
In the last three years I have ridden my bike 3,000 miles and have never fallen once. I have been quite proud of that. Then I fell two days ago. Scripture says that pride goes before a fall, and in my case that is literally true. Catholics have always listed pride as one of the seven deadly sins. CS Lewis says that pride is the source of all – not some, but all – human failing. I’m scratched up, scuffed up, and I still ache 48 hours later. Mostly, though, it hurt my pride. My pride is probably the part that will heal the slowest. Lesson learned.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
The gym
To postpone the day of my death, I do two types of exercise – strength training (the gym), and aerobics (my bike). I like riding my bike, but most days I would rather stay home and eat cheesecake. I really don’t like the gym at all, but they tell me it’s important. My incentive (see previous blog post) is the old men who can do twice what I can. It hurts when I have to lower the weight some old guy used, to use the machine myself. It also hurts when an old guy on a bike smokes past me like I’m sitting still. We won’t even talk about how I feel when an old woman leaves me in the dust. Someday, though, I hope to be that old man that outdoes the young guy next to me. I won’t gloat in front of him, but I’ll grin as I walk away.
To postpone the day of my death, I do two types of exercise – strength training (the gym), and aerobics (my bike). I like riding my bike, but most days I would rather stay home and eat cheesecake. I really don’t like the gym at all, but they tell me it’s important. My incentive (see previous blog post) is the old men who can do twice what I can. It hurts when I have to lower the weight some old guy used, to use the machine myself. It also hurts when an old guy on a bike smokes past me like I’m sitting still. We won’t even talk about how I feel when an old woman leaves me in the dust. Someday, though, I hope to be that old man that outdoes the young guy next to me. I won’t gloat in front of him, but I’ll grin as I walk away.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Carwash
In my college dorm and apartment years, I always hated going to the carwash. “I can’t wait,” I thought, “for a real house. Then I’ll wash my car by hand, with a hose and a bucket, the old fashioned way.” The idea sounded romantic and I visualized saving water, money, and time. Now I live in a house, and I always use the car wash down the street. The sign says, “Three bucks – Three minutes – Clean Car.” Hard to argue with that. The signs inside get to me, as well. “We recycle 70% of our water and chemicals,” they claim. I can’t do that at home. I don’t spray my shoes, clothes, and face with soapy water anymore. And, on the way out, there is a huge mirror as my car rolls through the blow dryer. My dog and I grin at our reflections in the mirror as we leave. Can’t do that at home. I’m sold!
In my college dorm and apartment years, I always hated going to the carwash. “I can’t wait,” I thought, “for a real house. Then I’ll wash my car by hand, with a hose and a bucket, the old fashioned way.” The idea sounded romantic and I visualized saving water, money, and time. Now I live in a house, and I always use the car wash down the street. The sign says, “Three bucks – Three minutes – Clean Car.” Hard to argue with that. The signs inside get to me, as well. “We recycle 70% of our water and chemicals,” they claim. I can’t do that at home. I don’t spray my shoes, clothes, and face with soapy water anymore. And, on the way out, there is a huge mirror as my car rolls through the blow dryer. My dog and I grin at our reflections in the mirror as we leave. Can’t do that at home. I’m sold!
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